Through The Earthquake And The Fire
by brooksburg
Summary: Whenever she's near him, he can't help but feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. Modern AU featuring Crane, Mei Ling, and a few original characters, with cameo appearances made by Po and the other Jade Palace denizens. Film character names have been changed for the setting.
1. But Not For Me

Summary: _Whenever she's near him, he can't help but feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun._ Modern AU featuring Crane, Mei Ling, and a few original characters, with cameo appearances made by Po and the other Jade Palace denizens. Film character names have been changed for the setting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kung Fu Panda, or any of the characters.

A/N: Title comes from British author Alfred Noyes' epic poem 'Drake', Song, Book VIII.

A/N 2: With the shortage of Crane/Mei Ling pairing fics, I thought it would be a good time to enter my contribution. The inspirations for this are numerous, but I relied somewhat on Richard Linklater's "Before" trilogy, blended in with "When Harry Met Sally…". Rated T for language. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, and please leave a review! Thanks!

* * *

Portage, Wisconsin  
October 13, 2000

Andrew Blair hated weddings.

A diversified volume of instances raised the crane's ire of the matrimonial service. There was the photographer whose lens made Andrew forget his eyesight for minutes at a time. He desperately wanted to smash the camera. The music grated his hearing as it was played by some random stooge who seemed to have been plucked right out of a karaoke bar. The food…well, actually, the food was great: Baked Alaskan cod straight from the fish market, piled high with celery, lemon, and artichoke. The waterfowl would never admit it to anyone at the party, but that covered most of the reason why he came. He guessed the cake was pretty good, too.

Above all of those, it was the ceremony which really got to him. As much as he wanted to leave, he could only keep his wings at his sides and force a smile when necessary.

"Do you have the ring?"

It's presented silently, and the audience cheers when the couple kiss. Andrew couldn't stop himself from looking away.

At the reception later on, he watches the newlywed Nelsons perform their wedding dance, guzzling down a solitary glass of champagne, wearing a noncommittal expression. He's glad for them, of course, even if he's having a hard time showing it. The wedding party bursts into full-on jubilee as the bride and groom sit down next to him. Linda gets up again immediately and grabs his wings in her paws, pulling the waterfowl out of his chair, "Come on, Andy! Swing me a bit!"

Her vivaciousness is starting to catch on, though not enough. He gently releases himself. "Sorry, Linda, but I think I'm going to leave."

The Australian shepherd looks distraught at the notion. "What?! No! Andy, please! Stay!" she exclaims, pulling at his wing again. He's known the couple for a few years now; the only time Linda called him Andy is when she was nearing her 'drunk alarm', as she termed it.

Stephen, on the other hand, stands up, a glass of champagne in his right paw, the other on Linda's shoulder, looking perfectly composed. "Are you sure, Andrew? You won't stay for the present opening?"

Any other time, sans the wedding, Andrew would have jumped at the chance to hang out with them. "It's fine, guys. I'm happy for both of you, really. Congratulations," he said, placing a wing on each of their shoulders. "Steve…" And for once, he's run out of words. What more could he say to mask his bitterness in this situation? It's not them he's angry at, anyway, just the notion of love that he feels will never come knocking on his door. "I'll see you around."

"Have a good trip."

"Yeah." His tone is absent, and he quickly follows suit.

Outside, he lets out a depressive breath. "It's totally fine."

But the lie sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. He slumps against his car. "Sure, if by 'fine' you mean the Aerosmith definition, then yeah, it's fine. Whatever." He gets in, quickly leaving the happy (and somewhat drunken) atmosphere behind him.

* * *

The border collie and the shepherd look at each other after he leaves the pavilion.

"I've never seen him like that. Is he going to be okay?"

Stephen is silent, glancing around the party. He suddenly grins.

"I know that look…" Linda responds when she sees it. "What are you up to?"

"All right. It goes like this. The spaceship drifts forward from…"

"Okay, stop."

"What?"

Linda fixes him with her patented "you're irrepressible" look. "Stephen, that was one sentence. Less than one, really, and it's already the least believable story I've ever heard. Were you watching 'Star Trek' reruns again? Or reading too much Asimov? And what do spaceships have to do with anything?"

The collie wilts some degrees. "Fine, maybe it won't happen _exactly_ that way, but…I do have this." He pulls out a crumpled sheet from his pocket, then smoothes it out on the table. The rest of the attendees are too busy dancing or talking to notice.

His wife squints her eyes at the image shown. "Is that…?"

Steve grins. "A GPS tracker. Andy was just wrapping up his corporate counsel seminar when Jesse and I hid this in his trunk. He barely drives the thing, except for when he goes out of town, so he's never noticed."

"Why?"

"I'm not blind, Linda. I have seen how depressed he's been lately. So I, being thou noble stalwart self…"

Linda snorts.

He ignores it, explaining on, "…have accepted the responsibility of assuming the role of the matchmaker."

She's taken aback for a moment. "That would explain the GPS," she said upon finding her tongue, before asking the more crucial question, "Who?"

"Rachel Klein, one of my old friends from high school. She was a senior when I was a sophomore." He puts the paper back in his pocket. "She's never been with anyone either. A little sad, I know, but if there's even a chance I can set these two up, I'm sure as hell taking it. I wanted her to come to the wedding to meet him, naturally without telling _her_ that, but she wanted to see her parents more. Understandable, since she just got back from a tour in the Mediterranean."

"Tour?"

"She's in the marine corps."

Linda nodded before taking another sip of champagne. "Andrew's going to kill you."

"Meh. I'll deal with that when the time comes. Besides, if all goes according to plan, he'll be too thrilled to even entertain the idea."

"If you say so."

"Of course I do," he plants a kiss on her muzzle, "Wife."

"Husband," she replies shrewdly. They share a few more kisses before the photographer comes by and blinds them with the lens.

"So," Stephen whispers, "Six months until they're married. Fifty dollars."

"I'm going to give it three," Linda retorts.

"You're on."

-—

When he was in high school, Andrew felt lucky enough to just be sitting with Carly Lindholm during lunch hour. He had watched her with longing, sad eyes, wishing the affection the snake felt for him went a step further, but armed with the knowledge it never would. The scenario was a near perfect plot for a Woody Allen film: he'd been in love with Carly who'd been in love with a guy who was already going steady with another friend of theirs. All the parties being crushed on remained wonderfully oblivious.

The pain of the unrequited faded as he entered Northwestern, though his collegiate romantic exploits transpired without incident, as Andrew chose, like he wanted to, to focus on his studies. His time was largely spent introverted at his desk, and interludes with the opposite sex occurred only with the regular study groups, or class assignments. But however much he feigned to in college, the single life was not one he wanted to make an occupation of. The resentment concerning the prospect of love was one he silently kept to himself, but he suspected Stephen knew. After all, they were roommates for two semesters, and friends even longer than that.

Stephen and Linda were happy, and it would hardly be fair for him, or to anyone, to stay in a place where his morose mindset would fester unwarranted.

He's been planning this road trip for a year, and now seemed the right time to make that opportunity real; let someone else, someone unknown, deal with the post-college quarter-life drama. He'd been on road trips before, driving past the many esoteric towns and abandoned warehouses with his parents when he was a chick. He sometimes missed the naivety of pressing his beak and wings against the car windows, gazing out wide-eyed at the buildings and trees rushing by in a blur. The road trip idea was broad in its simplicity, no matter how clichéd it appeared to the regular person, it was still a uniquely American concept.

More than anything, Andrew's glad he's not flying under his own power. Better that than risk the chance of colliding with an airplane. He steers the Camry west from Portage on the I-94, easing into the drive. He's familiar enough with this road that he knows it just as well as the bike trail back home.

He tries singing to the radio as a familiar song makes itself known, _"Something in the way she…"_ but trails off at the word 'she'. Strange how even the radio would deny him solace. He doesn't want to think about 'she'. His voice is hoarse and that particular line of thought will make the brief journey home all the more bleak.

Does it make any difference the sky is already gray? Not one bit.

The remainder of the drive passes him by in broken silence.

He wishes he had someone to talk to.

It's four hours later when he arrives in Sartell, just as the sun was being chased into the dark. Hardly any fanfare, but he can't say he was expecting it.

When he closes the door, he hears a reedy voice call from the study, "Evan?"

A familiar voice, one Andrew's not heard in years, replies, "No, Joanne. It's only me, Chuck. Sit down and I'll bring you some coffee." The voice's owner then makes an appearance.

The panda is wearing a pair of dark blue scrubs. Clothing aside, he's looking much the same as he did in high school, but it seems the years have made him a more tempered individual. There isn't a smile fighting for release on his face like there once was, and his eyes show weariness. Andrew wondered how much of that analysis could be put up to his own perception.

Then Chuck smiles, breaking that illusion.

"Andy! It's been a long time."

"Yeah, six years." Andrew can't say he's really in the mood for conversation, in whatever capacity. He glances over to the study, hoping Chuck would take the hint. "You should probably get that coffee ready."

"No problem." Footsteps clatter to the kitchen as Andrew goes the other way.

The figure in the chair doesn't move beyond a surreptitious twinge of feathers. Her beak is directed to the floor, her gaze empty, muttering a conversation to someone unseen, "Oh, that's nice that you finally asked Paula out to the dance, Evan. I would have done it for you if you hesitated any longer. Do you want some potato chips?"

Andrew stifled a sigh before occupying the stool beside the woman and taking a wing in his grasp. "It's good to see you, too, Mom," he said softly.

She doesn't reply.

She never replies.


	2. Gravity

A/N 3: I drew inspiration for the character of Stephen based on the semi-brotherly dynamic of DiNozzo and McGee from NCIS, while Linda is sort of based on the character of Caitlin Todd. There's also some similarity to Sheppard and McKay from Stargate Atlantis. But let's get on with the story, shall we?

* * *

The next day, as he's preparing to leave, Andrew gets an unexpected call.

It's Stephen.

"Stephen, hey. I'd have thought you'd be on your honeymoon by now."

_"Hey, buddy, I need you to do me a favor."_

It's like whatever Andrew said passed into deliberate disregard. The avian was somewhat intrigued, and more than a little wary, but he said, "Name it."

_"I have a friend who needs a ride out to California."_

That's it. No further explanation.

"And?"

_"And what?"_

"Why are you choosing me to do it? Why can't they fly out there?"

_"You're already heading out west. I thought this would be the best opportunity."_

"Opportunity for what? And you still haven't answered my question. Are they afraid to fly in a plane?"

Again, his words are ignored. _"She's waiting at the Hotel Ivy in Minneapolis. You'll pick her up by eight tonight? Thanks, man!"_

His brows rose, along with a sudden lividity. "Are you insane?! That's an hour in the other direction! There's no way I'm going to…" he stopped just as the sound of the dial tone penetrated his consciousness. Stephen had hung up. He closed his eyes, fighting for some emotional control. So much for escaping drama. He counted to a hundred before picking up the handset and redialing Stephen, cursing the dog for guilt tripping him. "Fine. I'll do it. What's her name?" he asked, as calmly as he could.

_"Rachel Klein."_

On the other end, Linda and Jesse watch from the doorway as Stephen wrapped up the conversation. "You'd better hurry. I already told her to expect you."

_"All right, I'm heading out now."_ Andrew paused briefly. _"Stephen?"_

"Yeah?"

_"I'd like you to answer me honestly."_

"Sure."

_"Am I on speakerphone?"_

Stephen intercepts the cradle faster than they can blink. "No, of course you aren't. Don't be ridiculous." Another pause. "I am not! You're imagining too much, Andrew." A wide berth at the pair behind him and a shake of the head is a clear indicator for them to be silent.

The menorquín grimaced. "Esto es una locura," he whispered in Linda's ear.

"No shit."

After a few more reassurances, and a hasty goodbye, Stephen hangs up the phone, again. He turns to them, grinning fit to split. Then he raises his paws in the air. "High five, guys! It's game time!"

Linda crosses her arms.

"Jesse, back me up."

The horse snorts, and turns away. "No thanks, pendejo." Linda follows behind.

"Come on, guys!"

Silence.

"I can't keep my arms like this forever!"

—-

There's never a chance he'll trust the border collie completely, especially after that Halloween in Seabury Hall six years ago.

They'd had a horror film festival at the Evanston Cinemark theater on the 30th, filled with the classics: The Thing, Carrie, The Exorcist, Psycho, etc. Then Stephen disappeared for a few hours, leaving Andrew and Jesse clueless as to his whereabouts. When the dog showed up again, he was grinning like mad. It made the roommates a little suspicious. He didn't know about Jesse, but Andrew hadn't gotten much sleep that night: he kept thinking Freddy Krueger would get him, which, at the time, seemed almost reasonable. Almost.

He'd shut his eyes for only a few minutes, and opened them again alarmingly when a barrage of high, agonizing screams and haunting winds assaulted his ears. His wings acted against his control and he flew up into the ceiling, cracking it minutely and sending himself, through no intentional means, into unconsciousness. He came away with a big bruise on his forehead. Jesse had wound up with a twisted ankle. When it was revealed Stephen had placed surround speakers under both their beds, neither spoke to the collie for a week afterwards. Of course, they would have forgiven him sooner if he'd just stopped laughing about it.

It was much easier to predict Stephen's plans from then on, but this time was a mystery. If there was any ulterior motive to him picking up a friend of Stephen's, he couldn't see it. This was too subtle, and the concept of Stephen being subtle about anything baffled the bird.

He gave up trying to figure it out after an hour, putting his mind to more important things. Minneapolis is a perfect labyrinth; granted, it's not the mind bender that Manhattan is, or even Chicago, but its numerous one-way streets share the same standards of any city on the planet that make driving all the more crazy by rush hour. Still, he made it to the hotel parking garage with an hour and a half to spare.

The Hotel Ivy's interior was very spartan. The walls were painted white, spread intermittently with what Andrew assumed was oakwood, of which panels were centered atop the fireplace and hotel room doors. Three meter tall windows provided an attractive glimpse of the night sky, and the lobby bathroom, when he went to use it, was furnished in glorious alabaster tile. The entire hotel just about screamed Holy Renaissance, or possibly Greco-Roman. Either way, it felt like he was committing sacrilege.

That sense of foreboding just wouldn't let up as he approached the concierge desk. A lithe young otter stood there, dressed to the nines in a black knit blazer, and typing briskly away on the computer. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

The crane cleared his throat, placing his wings on the desk, "Ahem, yes. Andrew Blair. I've come to pick up a Rachel Klein. I was told by a friend she was staying here."

"Let me check." She sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth in concentration. Andrew becomes a little queasy by the action, but he doesn't say anything. "You're in luck. She's checked in until 8." Old news to him. "Room 703."

"Thanks." He tucks in his wings, walking to the elevators. He wonders if she's even taken her eyes off the computer, but doesn't look back to see.

"If she's not in the room, check the Porter & Frye restaurant. It's just down 11th…!" the receptionist calls after him.

"Thanks! I got it!" he called in reply, cutting her off. He hit the 'down' button of the elevator with the crook of his right wing. Andrew knew he was being rude to the receptionist, but he supposed he wasn't entirely free of the irritation thrust upon him by his canine friend. The fedora he's wearing is obscuring his vision, making him squint at the descending lights above the door.

"Mind if I join you?"

His head whipped around to see a slightly older clouded leopard standing behind him in calm observation, wearing nothing save a bathrobe and sandals. She crossed her arms when he didn't answer. "Well?"

He shook himself into awareness. "Sorry. You startled me a bit. But, yeah, it's okay."

"Good."

The elevator dinged right then. They got inside, and the usual etiquette took over. On reaching the seventh floor, both take a step forward and immediately stop, looking at each other warily. Andrew sighed, gesturing with a wing, "After you."

"Thank you," she said, brushing past him with thinned yellow eyes.

The arrows directing the room numbers show that 703 is to his right, precisely the way the clouded leopard is going. _How convenient._ He rolls his eyes, quickly following after. It doesn't take him long to catch up. Not surprising, considering it's less than fifteen feet from the elevator.

_Oh wonderful._

The very room he's looking for just happens to belong to the feline, and there's no doubt she's Rachel. Stephen is so going to owe him for this.

"Are you," he asked, tentatively, to be positive of his assumption, "Rachel?"

She turns around, one paw already on the door handle. "Yes…" she says slowly. He could almost see the clouds of suspicion forming in her mind.

"I'm Andrew Blair. I'm here to chauffeur you," he said without thinking, and mentally groaned. _That's right, Andy. Stick to the classics._

_ Shut up, Stephen._ He's lost count over the years the collie had made him watch that stupid sci-fi franchise.

As an icebreaker, though, it turned out working perfectly: Rachel doubled over in mirth.

Andrew didn't realize it at the time but, at hearing her laugh, the first genuine smile in years spread across his features.

* * *

After she gets out of the shower, Rachel starts packing folding her clothes with an efficiency Andrew's seldom seen, even at his own house, before his mom...no, no. He wasn't going to think about that now.

He decides to initiate a conversation to take his mind off the subject. "Have you been here long?"

"Not very long. I was going to visit Steve after the wedding, but he insisted I come here instead. I'm still not sure why, if he wasn't planning on being here himself."

He snorted. "Might as well ask how many fish live in water than ask him to come clean with one of his pranks. If this is a prank."

"Too true. So, what's the on the agenda?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Head to Sartell. Spend the night, then head out tomorrow morning. I promised a few friends of mine I'd meet with them for breakfast, if you don't mind coming along." She nods jerkily, but says nothing, looking unsure for the first time that night. The nod's more of an inkling than the look on her face, but Andrew figures it out. "It's okay. My sister's away in Berkeley, so you'll be staying in her room."

She laughed weakly, latching the suitcase. "Ugh, I have no idea why I'm nervous. Still not that used to civilian life, I suppose."

That made him curious. "Civilian?"

"Steve didn't tell you? I'm in the marine corps."

"Ah. I'm afraid he didn't tell me much of anything except your name."

"Why am I not surprised?" She shook her head. "We should get going."

"You're that eager to leave?"

"I'm not really appreciative of being a pawn in whatever scheme he's cooked up."

"Amen. Let's go." He lifts his leg to open the door, allowing Rachel to pass, and then follows her out.

To eliminate the remaining tension, Andrew tells a story as they head toward the garage.

"...So, I'm getting ready to leave for home that summer when I finally see the car. It's completely covered in Nutella butter. I had absolutely no idea where he'd gotten it and I didn't care. All I saw was magma, way past red. So after yelling at Steve for nearly twenty minutes, he was pretty frightened. Especially since I threatened to carry him to the top of the Sears Tower. It didn't lessen my anger any when he showed me the shrink wrap that covered the car. He took it off carefully, to avoid it touching the paint, and when he'd finished," Andrew grinned, "I snatched it from his paws, threw it, and Voila! A chocolate coated collie!"

They stopped walking when Rachel breaks down, laughing so hard that tears leaked from her eyes. She calmed herself enough to ask, "What happened next?"

"Oh, that was pretty simple. Jesse, that was our other roommate, comes out on his way to a biology final, and stares. Stephen's on the ground, attempting to lick the chocolate off his clothes and face. After witnessing that odd spectacle, Jesse said "Dios mio." and left, shaking his head. I drove away, glad just to have had the last laugh. The only disadvantage to that was that I couldn't eat chocolate for a month."

She laughs again as they reach the Camry. Andrew's mesmerized, no matter how hard he fights it. He admits, though not aloud, that the leopard is lovely: clad in a white long sleeve, suede pants, a denim vest, a wool scarf around her neck, and an equally white beret beanie on her head. Her laugh is a sprinkle of chimes that have him frozen in place.

After he opens the door for her and makes his way to driver's side, the last puzzle piece falls into the pile. He freezes again, this time in realization.

_Son of a bitch._

Two choices are apparent: to make Linda a widow before the first anniversary, or to thank Stephen profusely for his interference. The former prospect looks more attractive at this point.

Rachel's voice cuts through his thoughts as she pokes her head out the passenger side. "Andrew? I thought we were going. Is something wrong?"

He plasters a grin on his face as the angry thoughts fade from his mind. "Nothing's wrong. Something I remembered, that's all. I'm ready."

Her expression shows she's not convinced, but keeps silent. Andrew breathed a sigh of relief before reversing the car, and getting them back home.

* * *

I'd just like to point out the change I've made in species concerning Mei Ling. While many among the fandom consider her to be a mountain cat, I couldn't see any resemblance to her being that type of feline. The clouded leopard appears more plausible and certainly bears more weight as clouded leopards have the markings (as seen on Mei Ling in SFF) that mountain cats do not.


	3. Blown A Wish

It's times like these Andrew wishes he had teeth, because all he felt like doing now is gritting them. In lieu of that, he'd settle for clamping his beak shut. Rachel had fallen asleep just after they drove through Brooklyn Center, and he trusted it would be the typical catnap. Whoever coined that idiom had either lied, or they'd never met a cat who snored.

Even more ironic was the fact that whatever he did to try and wake her up ultimately failed. She kept sleeping soundly as he honked the horn, slammed the brakes (on the shoulder, of course) and, as a last resort, turned the volume on the radio full blast.

He's never felt so thankful for the hour and twenty minute drive. But at the same time, he felt exhausted. The multitude of emotions he'd dealt with in the past few hours alone had him about as wrung out as a dish rag.

VWOMP.

Strike another tally to that list.

He got out of the car to inspect the damage. He closed his eyes upon realizing what was wrong. "Fuck." The right rear tire had been punctured. He wasn't going to waste time trying to figure out the cause. Best thing would be to get out the jack and replace the tube right away, which he did. In retrospect, this was a bit difficult. Because of the length of his bill, he had to turn his head sideways just to be sure the jack was in the right position to lift the rear of the car.

The sandbag provided him with some extra security in performing the task. He then took the tire off slowly but carefully that he wouldn't jostle the car and disturb his passenger, holding the flashlight in his mouth as he did so. Out alone in the middle of a darkened highway, Andrew could think of the assumptions Rachel would probably make if she woke up, none of them being particularly wholesome, but none of which he'd ever attempt.

He almost doesn't hear, engrossed in the task of setting the replacement, but Rachel spoke then, a sluggishness enveloping her voice, "Andrew? Andrew? Where did you go?"

"Over here," he called, tightening the last bolt with his wing, bent at the elbow to provide a better grip. He panted a little to expel some of the heat buildup, and the cold feel of the asphalt to his talons relieved the rest. The entire process of restoring the wheel, even in winter, had him feeling as though he were in the Amazon. He walked to the passenger side window. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering where you'd gone," Rachel said. Her yellow eyes looked him up and down. Andrew couldn't help feeling self-conscious by that stare, and was very grateful his feathers hid his flushed face. Oh, he had it bad all right. Damn it. He was definitely going to kill Stephen now. "Wow, you're a mess."

Making a denial of that would seem pretty moot. The grease left from the tire residue blackened his upper wings, and his coat had been ripped at some point when he placed the jack under the car. Also, as he crawled out from the rear, a few drops of oil fell onto his beak. He wasn't about to surmise how he must look, but it appeared likely he wouldn't be going to any award ceremonies soon.

Noting this, he asked, "You wouldn't mind driving for a while, right?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Look, we haven't got that long to go. Right now," he looked around the dim lit area, recognizing the bright red sign of the gas station in the distance, "we're in Clearwater, so we should be at my parent's place in thirty minutes, at the most. Plus, my wings are still a little slick from the oil, and I think if I tried driving in my state we'd probably fall in a ditch, or something." He shook his wings a little bit, letting loose the gravel that had made its home there.

"But I saw you use your foot to steer."

"Yes, but that's only to steer. I have to put my wings on the sides of the wheel to balance it out."

Her muzzle twisted into a grimace. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it was that hard for a bird to drive a car."

"It's okay." He chuckled. "And trust me, it is a hard thing to try. Though, to be fair, most birds that come in my height are proving the exception to the rule. The rest of them are just fine with flying."

She's silent, weighing the decision before speaking, "All right, I'll do it until we get there. Just…try not to…vomit. I tend to be a little fast."

Her words don't inspire much confidence in him, but he said nothing out loud. He opened the door for her to get out. She stared at him with unblinking eyes before doing so, and he struggled, unsuccessfully, to fight down another blush. The moment they're settled in their seats, he looked at her warily, careful to keep from hitting her with his bill. She looked back and smiled at him. "It'll be fine," she said. "Hold on to something."

He quickly gripped what Stephen had charmingly dubbed the 'Oh, shit!' handle. To his surprise, however, the car rolled out smoothly. At least he'd had the tire fixed. There was very little traffic on the road and within minutes, she turned to him again. "Wanna check what's on the radio?"

"Sure."

He regretted saying it immediately, eyes wide and beak gaping as the familiar beat of a drum machine and piano make their way to his ears, shortly accompanied by a crooning Welsh voice. _No. No no no no no._

_ "Please forgive me if I act a little strange  
__For I know not what I do  
__Feels like lightning running through my veins  
__Every time I look at you  
__Every time I look at you."_

It's taking all of his strength not to start banging his head on the dashboard.

"Hmm," Rachel contemplated, eyes flicking between him and the highway in front. Her face looked openly thoughtful and, dare he say it, amused. "Interesting choice. Do you listen to this station a lot?"

Aargh.

He doesn't trust himself to speak. He's embarrassed enough.

Stephen was a dead, _dead_ dog.

—-

The house was unusually lit up when they arrived.

Several silhouettes were quick to dislodge themselves from the ambience. Andrew could see one of them was his father. The other two were without a doubt Chuck and Sophie, laughing from something his father had said. They had most likely finished up a dinner that he couldn't attend on account of meeting a girl. 'Oh, hell,' he thought as the three turned to the driveway. He wasn't ready to hear the jibes the three could produce as a result. "This is gonna suck."

"It can't be that bad," Rachel said beside him. "Are the other two part of your family?"

"No," he said, smiling nostalgically, "but I've been friends with them since middle school. They're the only married couple from my class that stayed here in Sartell. Chuck, that's the panda, works for us as our latest live-in nurse. Sophie has a job as a personal trainer at Snap."

"Live-in nurse?"

The smile vanished. "It's for my mom," he explained. "She was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's three years ago. It's part of the reason I'm still in school. I took off a couple semesters once I'd heard, and it hasn't been an easy road. The thought that the woman who raised me can no longer remember my name, it…" Andrew stopped as his voice threatened to break.

He felt startled when something grabbed his wing. "Hey," Rachel said, her voice soothing enough to make him turn her way. Glancing at their joined limbs, he goggled slightly before turning his attention to Rachel again. She smiled sadly. "I know how you feel. I had this friend, back in elementary school, whom I knew practically from cubhood. Kevin was incredible. He had a deep fascination with machines, and could fix just about anything he set his mind to…" she looked out the driver's window, "except for himself. When we turned thirteen he contracted leukemia. He died five months later, and every science fair award the fox had won, every accomplishment he had made passed into a random statistic." She sighed, looking back toward Andrew. "If he'd lived, I'd have felt ready to call him my first boyfriend. Kevin was part of the reason I became a marine. I know that may not make much sense to you, but I set myself on being an engineer in the corps. It was the only way I could think of honoring him."

Andrew stared at her. When he realized Rachel stopped talking, he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I can see, even if I've only known you a few hours, that you're stretching a pretty thin line. It's been evident to me since we met in the elevator. After Kevin died I was cold to pretty much everyone around me. Never had a boyfriend in my life. I wouldn't allow it. It took this runt of a border collie to break me out of my shell, making me follow him in his pranks, and I'll always be thankful for that. Then I went to Annapolis, and besides the occasional liaison," Here, Andrew blushed again. He really wished he could stop doing that, "I never let anyone get close. You probably think it's foolish, but it's a mask. It's despair. I wore it for so many years that it became a part of me, and I can see it happening to you. Don't let it, Andrew." She gripped his wing a little tighter as she said it, "I can make it an order, if you prefer."

Andrew blinked.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND, MARINE?" she shouted.

He squawked. "Y-yes, m-m-ma'am," he stuttered, delivering a shaky smile.

She chuckled. "Good." Then she hugged him.

It was completely unexpected. There were many things he wanted to say: It was too soon. They didn't know each other. They had only met a few hours ago. Oh, but it felt _so_ nice. His arguments were quickly lost in the warmth she provided.

He could die happy right now.

Reality, however, still stuck its neck out. "Wow, we've been in this car _way _too long. Come on," she said, tugging his still connected limb. "Let me meet your friends."

"All right."

The introductions were made, the jokes told and, finally, the see you tomorrow's. Andrew didn't miss the speculative glances made between the panda and the tiger, knowing they were about him, but neither did he care.

He didn't take his eyes off of her the rest of the night.

* * *

Andrew couldn't sleep.

He lay crouched against the wall of his bedroom, his mind replaying all that happened in the past three days, before finally settling on a crucial point. When Rachel embraced him earlier that night, he felt something new affect his senses. Sure, he'd been hugged by women in the past, but this was like…like…

He didn't really know how to describe it. His crush on Carly, short-lived as it was, served a poor comparison.

The viper was kind, compassionate, and loyal to her friends. Out of respect for Sophie, she stood aside as the tiger and the panda consummated their engagement the year following high school. And Sophie told Andrew nothing about Carly after the wedding, mainly upon his own request. He hadn't seen her since then, and felt it should continue that way. The ghost of a crush was not one he wanted lingering around.

All he knew was that he couldn't keep to his room with nothing but stray thoughts for company. He opened the door slowly, holding his grip on the handle to stop from disturbing the other occupants, then made his way quietly downstairs. The television showed its steady stream of late night informercials, and there, in the corner, were his parents, resting side by side on the three-seated sofa. While she was asleep there would be no cause for worry. He smiled, proud that his father learned to cope with his mother's disability.

There's no snow on the ground, but the air's still cold enough to see his breath. It comes as something of a relief when compared to the embarrassment he felt earlier. The cherry wood porch held a special meaning for him: whenever he sought an escape from the high school dramatics, he came here, stretching out on one of the beach chairs his father acquired from the local YMCA. Tonight served as just one of the more fantastic incidents. He really had too much to think through.

"Hey, there, stud," a sultry voice whispered in his ear.

Needless to say, he wasn't expecting it.

A sound of something remote lulls his movement, and he looks at her, wings beating the air in a fitful panic. Rachel's looking up at him from the railing, covering her mouth. It's clear by the sheen of the streetlight that she's laughing.

"God, you scared me," Andrew says once he lands on the lawn. He's hiding his irritation a little better now. "I didn't think anyone else was awake."

"I've always been a light sleeper."

The memory of the drive to Sartell pushes its way forward. "Never would've guessed," he said in a sardonic tone.

Surprisingly, she doesn't take offense, shrugging. "It's usually when I'm in my own bed. Or something similar. Quite a contradiction, huh? I'm usually confined to a cot abroad. Kind of par for the course when you're a marine. Most of my last tour was spent in the Med Sea organizing maintenance drills on the Harry S. Truman. Barely got any sleep and what little coffee we had on board tasted like expired cough syrup."

He's a bit flummoxed by that last sentence. It made the late night cramming sessions he'd had in college seem somewhat paltry, when stimulus for him came in the form of energy drinks and caffeine pills. He's not sure what he can say without appearing like he's bragging.

Then again, he wonders, why she came up with that random tangent. She was a complete mystery to him. He couldn't wait to figure out what else she had to say.

"So…are you…seeing anyone?"

Except that.

* * *

Lyrics are from the song 'Please Forgive Me' by David Gray, which belongs to him and ATO Records.


	4. Rocks And Water

Warning: chapter contains strong language.

* * *

"I just met her last night. What was I supposed to say?"

He and Sophie are sitting in Liquid Assets, and while breakfast is less than ideal, there's no denying that Andrew is comfortable here, settling into something familiar and safe.

Or at least he would be if it weren't for the topic of conversation Sophie had so bluntly opened up with. Chuck was conveniently absent. Rachel wouldn't come at all, having decided at the last second to look after his mom, since his father had to go to work. The expression on Rachel's face when he didn't answer her question last night…it practically killed him.

When Sophie got to the house that morning, she smiled beatifically, though it quickly twisted into a cold glare when Andrew walked out onto the porch. There had to be some sort of special telepathy females used in emergency situations. Regardless, the end result was here.

"A simple 'No' would have been enough, Andy. Are you that afraid of commitment?"

"Excuse me, what commitment? I said I only met this girl last night."

Sophie's crimson eyes are boring into him, and he meets her gaze head on. She doesn't look away, even after taking a sip of her mocha. "She's not Carly."

That stung. Did she think he wasn't aware of the difference?

Obviously not, because the tiger continued, "Andrew, I have never known you to be a coward in anything. Especially not when your mom got sick. Why does the idea that Rachel might like you back frighten you?"

"It's the timing on the issue, and Stephen."

"Your friend from Northwestern?"

"Yeah, him. He conned me into picking her up, and for all I can guess she may have been in on it and is just stringing me along."

"For what?"

He can't think of a reason.

Apparently his silence is damning. "So, it's basically confirmation that you really have no fucking idea, thus you pull out a half-assed scenario that this girl is less than honest and accuse your best friend of swindling you."

"I'm not…" he protested.

Sophie cuts him off, clutching her paws atop the table, "Let's look at this logically. You come home from a wedding in a terrible mood, furthered by the fact that your mom is still sick. Stephen calls a day later explaining that a friend of his needs a ride out west. And while you're not kicking and screaming, you deny Stephen's request at first. He guilts you into it, as you say, and has you pick up a girl you know absolutely nothing about in the hopes that love will show its face. That's the general idea, right?"

Andrew mulls it over, and hesitantly nods.

"Right. And if that's the case, I'm very glad he took the risk."

The bird gaped. "What?"

She laughed at his disbelief. "You're like a mix between glass and stone: transparent when it comes to emotions and equally stubborn with them. Come on, Andrew, get it through your head. You may have finally found a girl who likes you for you. Why does it matter how it happened? The rest is up to what you do next."

Sophie's phone goes off, a repetitive hum. "Sophie Sorenson." She smiles. "Oh, Chuck. Where are you?" Her eyes widen a few words in. "What? She is? No, you keep her there as long as possible! I'm sending Andrew back right away!" She quickly snaps the phone shut, pitches Andrew's coffee in the garbage, and drags him outside. "Come on, Romeo."

"Wait!" he squawks.

"No time. Rachel's decided to bus back to the Cities. You don't get to her now, you'll miss your chance. Convince her that you want her to stay. Now! Go!"

Andrew's eyes narrow determinedly, and he quickly takes flight.

Sophie's smile turns into a smirk as he disappears over the building. She flips her phone open and dials one of the more recent numbers. "He bought it, Stephen."

The dog chuckled over the line. _"Knew he would. Keep me informed."_

"Will do," she promises, and hangs up.

—-

_Glass and stone. Glass and stone._ The words run a gamut in his head as he flies back to the house. On some level, Sophie's both right and wrong. He's more like a cathedral, in some ways. The rock is a durable fortress, acting as a testament to general ingenuity, but the stained windows serve no purpose without the sun to show through.

Andrew gave himself a mental shake; not even a day since he met Rachel and he's already composing metaphors.

Shortcuts don't mean anything in the air and he lands in the yard within thirty seconds. It's a definite record for Andrew; the fastest he's flown. He's panting hard, almost a wheeze. His feathers are ruffled to the point of molting. Electing to let gravity take over, he falls backward on the grass, still breathing heavily.

Something thumps beside him.

It was Rachel. She takes his head in her paws, gazing at him with concern in her eyes. Stranger or not, he doesn't think she's ever looked more beautiful than now. "Andrew, are you all right? Why were you in such a hurry?"

"I…thought you…were…leaving," he said between breaths. "Had to…stop…"

Rachel frowned. "Stop what?"

"Stop…" Andrew paused. He was still gasping for air. _Stop you so I could say how I feel. _Did _he _even know how he felt yet? Too soon to tell. He licked the side of his beak. "Stop myself from being such an idiot. I'm sorry I didn't answer your question."

She sighed. "Andrew, you don't have to apologize for that. I'm the one who put you on the spot. I'm the one who should be sorry." She rubbed her face, and froze. "Wait, who told you I was leaving?"

"Sophie. Chuck called her…and told her you were…taking a bus to the Cities."

Rachel's expression switched from concerned to broadly incredulous. After a minute of that, she exploded into raucous laughter, gently setting Andrew's head down on the grass and folding her arms against her stomach.

He feels that he's getting some of his wind back, and furrows his brow. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

She shook her head. "N-no, it's not t-t-that." Further giggles ensue. "Oh, god. I don't know why I didn't see it before. Chuck hasn't been here, and I wasn't planning on leaving, but…oh, that fucking bastard. This is his best prank yet." There's a note of admiration in her voice.

"Care to elaborate?" he asks from his prone position.

"Don't tell me you haven't guessed it yourself, Andrew. Stephen's playing Cupid for us. No doubt in my mind he's dragged Sophie and Chuck into it, and possibly your dad."

He closes his eyes, smirks, and starts laughing himself, wings spread out on the lawn. "We're being played. I knew it. Clever, Stephen. Subtle, too. I didn't think he was capable."

Rachel comes beside and helps him up. "Very clever," she agrees.

He glances toward the house. "How's my mom doing?"

"She's asleep for the moment. I'm gonna call Chuck, and if he's available, I'll have him come over to see to her. In the meantime, we've got some packing to do."

"Huh?"

She frowns again. "Tell me you're not always this dense. We are still going to California, aren't we?"

"Yeah, of course." The crane smiled, vastly mollified by the question.

"Good." She stepped close and hugged him. Andrew was shocked, again. It progressed further when she kissed the side of his face. He froze just as he was getting up, and his feet became fixed to the grass. His beak unhinged and his eyes glazed over; he felt about ready to faint.

He apparently wasn't alone in his disbelief. The leopard wrung her hands, voice suddenly reduced to an shaky blabber, "Um, good, that's good. See you in twenty minutes. Can't wait." She ran inside. Andrew's wing brushed his cheek, still a little stunned by her action.

_What the hell just happened?_

—-

Given the nature of the last conversation, he doesn't know whether to gauge Rachel's words as vacillating or hypocritical. She didn't seem particularly adamant about denying interest in him, but neither did she want to play a role in Stephen's game. If it was a game. This was too confusing.

His talons had been imitating tree roots for a full dozen minutes before he decided it was a good time to break out of his stupor. Upon entering the house, everything was silent save for a steady _thump-thump_ coming from the second floor. He knew the noise well, though the weight sounded fairly offbeat: Rachel was pacing. He thought it best to leave her be for now. Things were complicated enough.

There are some items he feels that need to be taken with apart from clothes: a copy of the book 'The Road Less Traveled'. Andrew's never read it, allowing it to gather dust on his bookshelf. He tosses it in the duffel. A tiny tape recorder lays in his wing. He stares at it before letting it follow the book, unsure just what thoughts may emerge as a result. His film collection is minimal, comedies mostly, among them 'It Happened One Night', 'The Purple Rose of Cairo', 'High Fidelity'…

…Wait a second.

_None _of these movies were his. He doesn't even remember buying them. Maybe they were a part of Kylee's collection. Then again, it's a bigger possibility that they're not. The entire stock of shelved films within view virtually scream 'romantic comedy'. "Smooth, guys. Very smooth," he said. Feeling a bit disgruntled, he leaves them where they are and zips up his bag. They might be appropriate for the setting, and he stresses _might_, but they serve no purpose as most hotels didn't come with DVD players. He'd stick with that excuse for now. Andrew exited his room and shut the door behind him.

He leaned against the jamb, closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Was he that much of a tourist in his own heart? His friends were goading him on in their own roundabout manner, and yet he just couldn't accept their words as gospel.

It had to be set aside, in any case. The hour was getting closer to noon, and while traffic wouldn't be half as bad leaving Sartell, getting to Omaha would be rough. He and Rachel had a seven-hour drive ahead of them. He hears the feline maintaining her pace and muttering beyond the wooden frame, and falters.

"You're such a goddamn fucking genius, Rachel. Oh, go on and keep getting the signals crossed. It's okay! Kiss him on the mouth this time, I dare you!" Andrew's face went red. He hated his hearing sometimes. "Ugh, this is such a nightmare. Bad enough I haven't even known him twenty four hours. He looked so horrified. Does he even like me? Does he hate me? Or is it just that he likes other birds? Why the fuck couldn't I just restrain myself a little more? Of all the rotten things that piece of shit dog has done this has to be…"

She says anything more and Andrew will start emulating a train engine. Rachel certainly lives up to the hype about sailors. He knocks on her door to interrupt. "Rachel? I've got all my stuff packed. Is everything all right in there?"

A meager pause results. "Motherfucker," she murmurs, but the tone is more startled than angry. The door swings open in admission. "Hi." She smiles brightly, but it comes out with an undercurrent of nervousness. She rubs her eyes. "Yes, I'm fine." It comes out like the exact way he says it. F.I.N.E. Years of voicing it himself allow him to identify the tone.

"Here," she hands him her bag. He almost keels over. What does she have in this thing? A grandfather clock? She steps past him down the stairs. "I'll call Chuck over. Just put the bag in the backseat. Thanks!"

Andrew raises his eyes to the ceiling. "'O! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!'" No danger of exacerbating romance in Hamlet, to say the least.

By the time Chuck and Sophie arrive at the household, he and Rachel are all false smiles and cheer. Sophie decides to confront him again, "Glad to know you've taken my advice."

"Not entirely."

She ignores this. "You'll know." She looked over to the panda speaking with Rachel, who glanced back with a nod and a grin, and her eyes softened. "Trust me, when the time is right, you'll know."

Andrew glanced among the three of them and then focused on his passenger. "You ready, Rachel?"

Another bright visage. "Ready!"

"It was good to see you guys again," he said, offering a wing.

Chuck shook it before heading inside. Sophie didn't exactly hug him, instead leaning in close and whispering, "You'll figure it out." As stern as her disposition often was, she always knew precisely what to say.

"Thanks," he whispered back and got into the car. Rachel, sitting opposite, chewed on her paw as she stared blankly out the window. He didn't say anything; it didn't seem like the right moment. He wondered if it would come at all.

Both remain silent, waving their limbs absently as they pull out of the driveway.


	5. Everybody Knows

_ Reticent words  
__Exempt from the frost  
__Speak in the eternal tongue_

The haiku wouldn't cease its bouncing through the waterfowl's head. Normally whenever Andrew chanced upon a piece of poetry it would be easily dismissed. Therein lied the present problem: the verse was his own. Surprising as he'd been pretty impotent in his creative writing elective. He winced. That was a bad word choice.

They were halfway to Omaha, having passed Worthington not ten minutes ago. It was a little after four in the afternoon, and both dealt with the uncomfortable silence in various ways. Rachel had her head propped against the window, sneaking glances at him when she thought he couldn't see. Andrew just focused on driving. He wasn't going to turn on the radio. For all he knew, Stephen could probably be calling in song requests; the ribbon to tie up the pretty little package.

The package in this case being the two of them.

The sky above is showing through the clouds, billowing like a parachute, painted in golden haze. The landscape is as quiet as the two of them are, serving as the perfect backdrop to country lifestyle as he guides the car toward Nebraska's major city. He felt the silence went on long enough, but hadn't the slightest clue what to say.

If he wanted to be completely honest with himself, then he could say he didn't want this. He truly didn't. The circumstances had shifted without his agreement and beside him sat the constant hint of that jumble. Women mystified him. With their purses and high-heeled shoes and makeup and their endless routine of hour-long bathroom habits, it was amazing they were able to get anything done.

Andrew at least has enough tact not to say this out loud.

At the same time, he can hardly believe Rachel may have feelings for him. It's difficult to maintain his composure when the memory of her words dredge up such a thrill in his bones. He wanted to smile, to reassure her, but this entire situation is new to him: he's never had someone like him back, other than as a friend. He's not ready to call this feeling love or even, excepting that, a crush. Coupled with the words she uttered in the bedroom are flashbacks of all the girls at Northwestern who'd laughed in his face when he had timidly asked them out.

Oh, yeah. The _grand_ college experience. The ancient bitterness he felt against those girls sprang forward and it almost escaped his notice when his wings started to tighten around the steering wheel. One feather falls free to the floor plate.

"Andrew? Are you okay?"

Good question. He considers lying, and it would seem harmless to lie to a stranger, right? But he doesn't feel about her in that regard. Not anymore. He neither had a crush on her nor was in love with her, but it lay somewhere in between: a yet unnamed emotion.

Rachel's looking at him intently.

"No. I guess I'm not," he admits, and just like that his mouth's developed independent speech. He talks about Carly being in love with Chuck, and the disappointment he'd felt when he found out, and wrapping it up with his inter-collegiate romantic failings. "I mean, the whole thing was pretty much bullshit. Don't get me wrong, I am happy that Stephen and Linda found each other, but there's still that nagging subject that had to be addressed: why couldn't that have been me?"

"Do you still feel that way?"

There's an exit coming up, and Andrew turns into the right lane before looking at her with his answer, "It's slow going, but I'm starting to get past it." His heart is pounding in his ears, but that doesn't stop him from taking her paw in his grasp and gently squeezing it. "And I have you to thank for that."

Her eyes are shining.

He's relieved the gas station is within his sight because, as he moves the gear into park, he found he couldn't look away from them.

—

The snow began to fall in earnest as they reached the city. The golden sky had long since faded, transforming the clouds into a great silver lining which placed emphasis on the art deco style buildings and oil streaked streets around them.

"What do you feel like going to see first?" Andrew asked. It was the single most typical question to pop out of his mouth, and such a clichéd one at that.

"I don't know. Never actually been to Omaha. Heard it was pretty disreputable in the 1900's with that 'Cribs' business. Do you think that's true?"

"To be honest," Andrew said, glancing around at the street walkers. People watching had been, and still was, something he considered very absorbing. There was a rather attractive female flamingo in a beige skirt and fleece coat on the corner, covering her head with a wing. He turned back to Rachel, whose eyes had narrowed, and continued, "I've never been here either. I don't know any of the history. The last road trip I went on, Stephen, Jesse, and I headed east, not west. Seeing D.C., Philly, and New York was fun, but also loud, obnoxious, rude, and hot. Each city was like an oven. We went during the highest point of the summer. No bullshit, every minute spent there felt like I was going to be a part of a gourmet. This is better, I think. Instead of melting I'll be freezing."

She laughed at that. It had him a little worried. The laugh wasn't the same as when he revealed Stephen's previous pranks back at the Ivy. The inflection became shrill and laced with what he thought was asperity.

"Let's find a hotel," he said, partly to change the subject, but mostly because he felt he needed to set things straight between them, and he didn't want to do it while they were still in the car. Single or not, Andrew was no stranger to jealousy.

"Whatever," the feline replied in a detached tone. Terrific. It was Sophie 2.0.

Wandering the Nebraskan streets in hopes of finding room and board suited to their needs was supposed to be easy, but…

"That's impossible."

…fate, it appeared, had other plans.

"Sorry, sir. Every other space is booked for the next few days. Ya'll just have ta make do with our last bedroom," the lupine concierge replied in a country twang. The big fanged grin on his face made Andrew want to punch him. Badly.

The feline and avian were truly on their last rope. Two hours of them scurrying around the city made both very exhausted, as nearly every hotel in the city was either closed or their 'No Vacancy' sign was flashing for the world to see. Rachel had already lost her temper after the third visit, damn near strangling the receptionist by the poor girl's scarf, and he saw little to no point in enduring another visit to an albeit crammed hotel.

Andrew looked at the leopard, whose only response was a brusque nod. He sighed, then offered up his credit card. "We'll take it."

"Great!" the concierge exclaimed.

Andrew's wing twitched marginally.

—

With the hotel fiasco behind them, Andrew unloads a double-edged sword.

"Want to grab a drink?"

She agrees. The reasons are numerous against the suggestion, not the least of which is how tired both are, but the TV's predictably showing nothing of interest considering the hour and he's at a loss when it comes to do anything else worth doing. Would he have had any sort of plan if he'd been alone? Probably not.

The nearest bar is an eight minute walk, and the two react with absolute glee at the open prospect. It doesn't quite make up for the seven hour drive, but it's a close start.

The wind's picking up, taking flying out of the question, and the snow slowed them down a bit, but Andrew and Rachel made it to the bar without slipping in the drift. He put his wing around her waist about two minutes into the walk to steady her footing and the leopard instinctively leaned toward his abdomen, sending him a grateful look coupled with a certain fondness. They glance at each other again once they arrive at the door.

"Ironic," he said in a deadpan.

She nodded. "Totally ironic."

The diagonal sign above read:

_**BAR  
**__**California  
**__**PKG.**_

The place was a dive, but also comfortable after the icy spartan atmosphere of the hotel. The typical refreshments were on tap (Blue Moon, Budweiser, etc.) and the hard liquor drinks stood in the back shelf. Dartboards adorned the back plastic blue wall with another television on the left. They quickly sat down at one of the more moderately clean booths by the east corner.

"How ya'll doin' tonight? I'm Sherlene." The speaker, a zebra with a dyed pink and black comb, stood facing them with a small clipboard in her hoofed hand; clearly the waitress. "Can I getcha anythin'?" Her twang was even more pronounced than the concierge's had been.

Alcohol would never be a mainstay in the waterfowl's life. Not that he ever refused a bottle, but studying to become a lawyer invariably took precedence over partying and drinking. He figured that, just for tonight, he could relinquish the moderation he'd accustomed himself to. "Uh, yeah, we'll take two…" He looked to Rachel for confirmation on the order, then stopped mid-sentence. Narrow Eyes had made a comeback, and was watching the waitress with palpable hostility, "...waters for now."

The zebra smiled. She had that particular air of one who would never let life get the better of her. Glancing at Rachel, she said, "Not tha firs' time someone's been protective of her man around me, girl. Look after him close though. The smart ones are always so cute n' nervous!"

Andrew choked. "We're not even dating…"

She didn't let him finish, "Heard that b'fore, Birdy. Ah swear, if you two ain't hitched inside a week, I'll eat ma shirt."

It appeared that Rachel could blush through her fur as much as he could through his feathers. The two matched gazes, then looked away.

Sherlene said, "I'll leave ya two alone." She walked to the bar, but Andrew saw the smug smirk displayed on her face.

They endured a minute of awkward silence before jumping like their seats had just caught on fire, all the while not looking at each other directly.

"I gotta pee."

"I'll get the drinks."

Double-edged sword indeed.

—

The phone has been ringing for over ten seconds, not really reassuring the crane. By the time the machine does its regular recording, Andrew's practically blathering, "Stephen, it's me. I don't know how things could've gotten any more fucked up, but they have. We're too nervous around each other to know how to act. We've become like waking volcanoes about to erupt and I'm afraid that if I admit my feelings to her it might…"

The receiver clicked and the collie's voice came on the line, sounding extremely agitated, _"Holy fucking shit, Andy. The way you're going on is making _me _believe you're looking to get away from Rachel. What happened to that advice Sophie gave you?"_

Andrew's eyes glinted. "It clearly didn't take," he deadpanned. "So you _have _been spying on me. Us. Well, bravo, Stephen. I hope this prank of yours was worth it."

_"It…" _he sighed._ "It was never a prank, Andy. I think you know that, too. I've given you enough time to work it out on your own."_

Andrew's gaze wandered the bar. Thankfully it proved to remain a quiet night. Very slim chance of someone eavesdropping on his conversation. "What about the hotels? Rachel and I were running all across Omaha trying to find a room. Can you honestly tell me you didn't have anything to do with that?"

Stephen conceded, _"Maybe a little."_

"How?"

There's a slight hesitation. _"I put a GPS device in your trunk."_

Andrew paused. "You…"

_"Look, I'm sorry, okay? What more do you want me to tell you? Yes, I tricked you. Yes, I tricked Rachel. Yes, I maneuvered you both into traveling together. I had Sophie put those films in your shelf, and made up instances to ensure the two of you took the trip together. I'm done with the jokes, okay? Granted, some of those haven't gone over so well in the past, but I mostly did them for your and Jesse's benefit. You think I'm blind so much that I can't see what's going on with you? Yes, your mother is ill, and it's consumed you into a broken state. I did this for you. Not me, _you. Andrew Blair_. It's about time you actually took the leap, Andrew. Live with the risk. Don't regret the 'might have been's' anymore, because there's a strong chance they'll never fall into your lap again. You like her, she likes you. It's simple. Now, bird brain, are you finally going to accept my advice or continue taking refuge in your feathers?"_

He doesn't think he's ever heard Stephen sound so serious before. It's quite extraordinary.

Rachel had by this time emerged from the bathroom, glancing around for him. When she caught sight of him she smiled. Andrew smiled back, a resolute feeling coalescing within him. Paying only a fraction of attention to the words, he replied, "You know what, Stephen? You're right. I'll accept."

_"Good man."_

He hung up the phone, and walked to where she stood.

Rachel asked, "Who were you talki…"

Andrew drew her into a kiss.


	6. Get It Out

Time decelerated at that moment.

Andrew could swear by it.

His wings latched on to the sides of her cheeks, beak parting for her lips. Memorizing every inch of her furred face, he closed the distance. He felt her stiffen, then slowly relax, drinking him in just as he was doing the opposite. All those anonymous songs about hidden fire were suddenly making sense as the kiss went deeper. They dug in passionately, wings and paws wrapping around each other in bliss. Both were seemingly oblivious to the sparse crowd eyeing them with interest.

At least until Sherlene decided to shout out, "AH knew it! As much as we all 'preciate a PDA, kids, save it fer yer hotel room! We hav' a bisness t' run here."

The bird and the cat broke apart, but neither one could keep down the smiles that had blossomed on their faces. "Wow," Rachel said after a long silence.

"Yeah." Andrew was still breathless.

"So, what happened to the entire 'romance is such bullshit' spiel?" Rachel asked in a playful tone of voice.

The grin stayed on his face. "I guess I lied," he said, before kissing her again.

Rachel pushed the waterfowl back gently. "Down, Birdy," she laughed. "We're attracting an audience."

The shy guy in Andrew wanted to crouch in embarrassment, but he felt too blithe to want to pay attention to that aspect. He shrugged instead. "All right. Go on and sit down. I'll grab the drinks." He quickly amended, "Properly this time."

"Hurry back."

He looked toward her, smiling again. "I promise."

Sherlene looked up where she was counting her latest tip as the crane approached the bar. "Boy, whatchoo doin' over here? Ain't ya gonna wait until I'm ready? You leavin' that girl of yers all 'lone!"

"She's in the marine corp, Sherlene. Trust me, she can handle herself just fine," Andrew countered. He turned back to the table. "What kind of beer would you like?"

"Pabst," the feline replied.

"One Pabst and one…Fat Tire."

"Comin' up, Birdy. Now go sit your butt down or I'll strap ya to a stool!"

Cowed, Andrew said, "Yes, ma'am."

As he got to the table, two rhinoceroses came inside. He was only able to tell they were rhinos because their horns shown through their head coverings. Once they took off their coats, he could see the differences. The stouter one was dressed in red plaid and jeans, and walked with a highly developed swagger. He also an unknown tattoo visible just above his neckline. The other rhino exuded a tranquil demeanor, looking over the bar before nodding in quiet approval. They claimed their seats at one of the open tables between the bar and the booths.

Sherlene approached Andrew and Rachel, drinks in hand. "One Pabst Blue Ribbon…"

"Me."

"…And one Fat Tire. 'Joy yer night!" She left with a wink, the meaning of which was not lost on either of them.

Andrew glanced at the beer stein, which proved to be as tall as his beak was in length. "I knew I should've gotten a straw."

"Hey."

The stout rhinoceros stood at the head of the table. Strange how they didn't even hear him coming. All his attention was completely focused on Rachel. Andrew, at that moment, might as well as have been (and felt like) a part of the wallpaper. "Hey, there, kitty cat. Whaddya say we go back to my place and play Dr. Love?"

The other rhinoceros groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead.

Andrew began to get a little angry. "Excuse me, _sir_. She's already with me, and we're on a date, so if you don't mind, please leave."

Rachel looked at him gratefully. The rhino…not so much. He glared at the waterfowl. "Was I asking you, shrimp?"

"Well, no, I don't swing that way. But I'm game if you are." The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said.

Rachel stifled a giggle behind her paw. The rest of the bar went silent with wary tension.

"You fucking…" The next thing Andrew knew, he was being dragged bodily away from his seat, spilling the beer stein over the corner as his talon caught on the rim of the glass.

"Put him down!"

"Bobby, what the hell are you doing?!"

Too late. The rhino punched Andrew twice, making him squeeze his left eye shut. Then he dropped him to the floor and kicked him in the stomach. The bird tumbled over to the wall, fighting a surmounting desire for unconsciousness.

"You really shouldn't have done that, _babe_," a wintry voice spoke into the quiet. Two resounding thuds, a yell, and a crash quickly superseded it.

"Jesus. Bobby, you idiot…"

A concerned furry face appeared above Andrew's, cupping his cheek. "Shit. Andrew, are you all right?"

He gave her a smile before passing out.

—

There's a bug buzzing around his head. He wanted it to go away.

_Beep…Beep…Beep…_

"Ughhh…"

He swatted at the bug with a wing and grimaced, a tiny moan escaping his beak. Oh, god. The wing had exploded into flat-out agony. The pain, however, served to wake him up a little more. At least there were no bugs around. The monotonous signal coming from behind gave him some idea of where he was.

A hospital.

He hated hospitals.

Actually, the feeling amounted to a strong dislike. With good reason: Joanne Blair had spent her time in and out of them ever since being diagnosed. Hate or dislike wouldn't help in this scenario. He knew it was necessary this time. His eye felt like it was stitched shut and knew he had at least one, maybe two, ribs that were broken.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

"Bergan Mercy Medical. This was the closest hospital from the bar."

The crane looked around the room. It took some time to gain focus because his right eye seemed to be in as much discomfort as the other. It definitely was not Rachel, because she was fast asleep in the chair, limbs contorted in a fetal position and clasping onto his free wing. The only other person, he realized, was in the doorway, a large amount of guilt on his features. It was the other rhinoceros.

Andrew was less than pleased. "What do you want?"

"To apologize."

He scoffed. "With all due respect, I'd rather hear him say it."

"Understandable." The rhino entered the room and came to stand on the other side of the bed, and Andrew followed his movements warily. He stuck out his hand. "Ryan Lambert."

"I'd shake it but I think I just pulled a muscle. I'm Andrew Blair. That's Rachel Klein," he indicated with his beak.

Ryan nodded. "Pretty girl. I wish my last girlfriend had been that devoted."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault. Quite a shiner you've got there."

"I like to think it was worth it."

"Let's hope you're right." Ryan's gaze shifted. "She's waking up."

"Mmmm…" Rachel opened her eyes. "Hey, you're awake." She smiled blandly. "I was worried. Are you feeling all right?"

"You've asked me that a lot recently," he said. "But right now? Not really. I don't think I can accept a hug anytime soon."

"What you did back in the bar was pretty stupid," she conceded, rubbing the tip of his wing with her paw.

"I know." He managed a weak smile, squeezing her paw back. "But for however long I'm with you, Rachel, I wouldn't hesitate to do it again."

"My hero," she said sardonically.

"When did the doctors say I could get out of here?"

Her smile dimmed. "Today, Andy, but…they told me a good portion of your ribs were broken and your wing was sprained when you got slammed against the wall. You'll be able to walk, but the road trip is going to have to be put on hold for a few more days."

"Great." His head fell back against the pillow. "Thank you, Andy, you literal big mouth."

"Don't think like that, Andrew," Ryan replied. Andrew had almost forgotten he was still there. "Bobby's always been too easy to provoke."

"That's comforting."

"Sorry. Listen, I'll talk to him, try to calm him down. See ya guys…later, I guess."

"Later."

"Yeah, see ya."

As the rhinoceros exited the room, Andrew turned to his (friend? girlfriend?) companion and said, "I'm ready to leave, Rachel. Please go get a wheelchair."

There's a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Come on, Andy. I think you can do better than that. Say it again."

He narrowed his eyes, and let him be damned if a smirk wasn't about to burst forth on his face, too. "Okay…go get a fucking wheelchair, woman!"

The smirk came full blast. "With pleasure." As a parting gift, she enveloped him with a lengthly and searing smack on his beak. Andrew began panting by the time she released him.

"You…are such…a bad influence on me," he said.

"Keep thinking that way, Birdy," she countered, a smirk still in her voice.

They're out of the hospital doors within five minutes. Two cops pass them by on their way. "La policia. Hijo de puta! Let's get out of here!"

"Wow, geeky, strong, _and_ multilingual. That's really sexy," he responded as she sprinted him forward.

"Oh, hush," she laughed.

"I'm not kidding, it is! Do you think we should get a cab?"

"Forget the cab. There's Ryan. Hey, Ryan! Can you give us a lift?" she shouted.

The rhino stops just outside his truck, glancing at them. "Sure. Where you heading?"

"The Element in Midtown."

The police run out the door at that precise moment. "Hey!"

"Shit! Get us the fuck out of here!" Andrew and Rachel yelled in tandem.

Ryan hurriedly starts the ignition.

Rachel shoves Andrew into the cabin, kicking the wheelchair over as Ryan speeds out of the hospital parking lot. The cops halted their pursuit when the truck disappeared from sight.

"Oh, man," Andrew snickered. "Did you see their faces when…" He winced, cradling his stomach. "Okay, ow, that hurts. Ow."

"Damn it, Andy. Stop laughing or you'll hurt your ribs more."

"Sorry."

All three are silent for a few seconds when they reach a stoplight.

"Hehehe…Ow."

"Don't make me hit you."

"Yes, dear."

—

It turned out that they hadn't escaped the police. They awaited the couple at the hotel, thankfully outside the building. After some questions, the police left Andrew and Rachel to their devices.

"Quite a memorable first date. That happen often?"

Andrew blinked. "What?"

"Insinuate that a rhino's gay, provoke a brawl, then wind up in a hospital bed?"

"Uh…no," he deadpanned.

"Good." She stood up on the balls of her feet and placed her paws on his shoulders, kissing him on the side of his face. "Because I don't want you to make a habit of it."

He smiled. "Neither do I."

"Come on," she said. "Let's get inside before we freeze."

He doesn't bother arguing the point. He's pretty cold, too. The pair can't run for the obvious fact it'll hurt Andrew to do so. This time, Rachel was the one to support him, taking hold of his good wing and draping it over her neck while he walked stiltedly. She accompanied him in this fashion right to the elevator, drawing a few glances from the other hotel guests. The elevator ride is predominately quiet save for the jingle, and when they finally get to their room, he tells her he needs to rest; it's apparent that the short walk from Ryan's truck had the waterfowl pretty much exhausted. He dipped his head in his back feathers and closed his eyes.

Only to be disturbed a second later. He was almost expecting terrified screams to start up again. But it was Rachel, prodding him awake. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Trying to sleep."

"Well, sleeping that way isn't going to do your ribs any good. You'll have to use an alternative for tonight."

"Like what?" Rachel motioned to the bed. "Oh, no. The last time I slept in one of those, my whole body was on fire. Besides, how do you know that _that _won't just upset my ribs even more?"

"Because I'll be with you."

He gulped. "Um…a-are y-you sure that's a good idea? I m-mean kissing is o-one thing, but t-t-this is…" He couldn't continue, because she closed his beak with a paw.

The feline smiled softly. Andrew just about melted at that point. "I'm not asking for sex, you dummy. You need your rest more than that anyway. I'll just be there to stop you from stirring too much in your sleep."

"Oh," he exclaimed. The smile he produced came out more shakily than intended. "That's g-good. I'm s-sorry i-if I drew the wrong c-conclusions…"

"Shh," she replied. "You're talking too much, Andy. Let's get some sleep…Properly this time."

The shakiness eased a bit. "Fair enough."

They quickly lay down. "Good night, Andy." He wondered when he had become 'Andy' to her. It felt really nice.

"Good night, Rach."

She reached for his wing before closing her eyes.

Neither one let go.

—

A/N: The two rhinos are, obviously, Vachir and Master Thundering Rhino from the two movies.


	7. Night And Day

_ There are a lot of things he's often fantasized about but never actually acted on._

_ Here was such a scenario._

_ Couples of many species swayed all around Andrew. The music probably wasn't the most upbeat, but many still twirled as they fell into a rhythm beyond his hearing. They jived, they dipped, they swung upside down and…oh…_

_ Andrew didn't even know he could blush inside a dreamscape. He hastily walked past, trying to get the perception of what he'd just seen out of his mind._

_ Actually, he was already in his mind. That wouldn't work._

_ A new tune commences, woodwind and brass accompanied by horns. It's slow, melodic to the point that the crowd stopped its jungle atmosphere and the various couples held each other close, readily falling to the grace of the big band's rendition of the song he now recognized as 'Begin The Beguine'._

_ The clarinet is added to the forefront as Andrew realizes he has nobody to dance with. He glances around, hoping to no avail to find at least one familiar face, then he grimaced. It would probably help if he wasn't in the middle of the dance floor. He waddled, make that struggled, against the dancing people, looking for some purchase to push through but the process is akin to walking through mud, very slow going._

_ When the waterfowl gets to the entrance, he almost stumbles as one of the many couples bump into him from his left. They utter a rather perfunctory "Sorry" before resuming their close dance and putting him out of their minds completely. Andrew's irritated but the couple is gone by the time he turns around, lost in the deluge of dancers and music._

_ The entrance itself is adorned in red velvet, presenting the crowded auditorium in a very realistic classic 1940's setup. A white haze drifted above the dancer's heads from multiple points inside: cigarette smoke._

_ "Wow, what a dreamboat!"_

_ "Ssh, he'll hear you!"_

_ "He probably has, ladies. He's a bird, remember?"_

_ "I don't care. I'm claiming him."_

_ He turned in the direction of the voices, finding himself a bit shocked that he both did and didn't recognize them. Sophie, Carly, and Rachel. All were made up in the same 1940's dress as most of the dance floor. Then he realized he was too._

_ Sophie was clad in a sleeveless emerald green dress, looking devastatingly seductive, the velour fedora adding flavor to her demeanor. As well, the tiger smirked in a 'come-hither' way when she caught his eye. It was somewhat unnerving to see her like that, when she was usually so firm in her mannerisms, but Andrew could not deny he found it a little sexy._

_ Carly was, for vanity's sake, covered neck to tail tip in a burgundy colored sash. The upper half of it was imprinted in white lines while the bottom half imitated a bouquet of red roses. Lilies rested atop the snake's head. Her makeup had been verily emphasized; lipstick and eyeliner giving her the aura of what he assumed was supposed to be Betty Grable or Lana Turner. Her fangs lifted up into a smile towards him._

_ But it was Rachel who took the cake. The clouded leopard was entirely in white; a floury dress that rippled with persuasion and shaped into a v-neck. Her head wasn't covered like Sophie or Carly, but that only served to make her more beautiful, something he didn't think was possible. His heart began to sing along with the encore as the band played 'Star Dust'. There was a smoky gaze fixed on his eyes and a cigarette burning in her paw as she sashayed in his direction._

_ Carly looked terribly morose as he watched her leave the auditorium._

_ Sophie looked downward for a moment before a paw tilted her chin up. She smiled at the panda who'd grabbed her attention before both disappeared into the dance._

_ Andrew's wing fumbled around his neckline as Rachel approached, feeling as though he was starting to choke through his tuxedo. The air was stifling, but all of that feeling and noise from the band and the crowd faded as he saw the gleam in her eyes._

_ "What's a dish like you doing in a place like this?"_

_ The answer came easily, "Aiming for the best." That being said, he captures her mouth._

_ The faded music suddenly rebounds as the band leader sings,_

_ "In my heart, it will remain, baby,  
__My stardust melody,  
__Oh memory, oh memory…_

—

"…oh mmrri…"

It's a gradual development as he wakes up, something to be as prolonged as possible, but he soon opens his eyes, vaguely aware there was singing issuing from his lips.

Andrew tried to get up, but found he could only move a modest portion of his neck. His eyesight is still a little bleary, but it comes to his attention that Rachel has her arms around him. Unlike the nap he had to sit through going to Sartell, this is peaceful; a symphony of her soft breaths without the drawback of the intense snore that made him so flustered. Her eyelids are shut, corneas rolling underneath, but that same enchanting smile she gave him earlier is playing across her mouth. He wondered if her dreams are as good as his had been.

He carefully placed his wings around her waist, and was met with a contented 'Mmmm'. The leopard inhaled deeply, then blinked in leisurely succession. "Morning," she said, voice soft with the aftereffects of sleep. Her smile didn't fade as she sat up on the bed. "How did you sleep? Well, I hope?"

"Quite well, actually. Thanks for the reminder, by the way," Andrew drawled. He had almost forgotten about his ribs. He removed a wing from her waist, then he winced; there was a slight twinge as he touched them, but the pain had mellowed. He frowned. "Okay, that's bizarre."

"What?" She placed her paw on his stomach. He winced again. "Is it okay?"

"It's…well, I can't honestly say I've broken any of my bones before. Is it supposed to be healing this quickly?" She pressed in further. "Ow. Ow Ow! Okay, okay, I take it back! I take it back! It…oh fuck…still hurts. Please take your paw off."

"Sorry, Andy." She brought her feet under herself, knees to the side, looking concerned. "I just wanted to be sure. I smashed a couple toes a few years back when I accidentally dropped a lifting weight on them. Speaking from personal experience here: there is nothing that can heal that quickly."

"I'll take your word for it." He dropped back to a horizontal level.

Rachel had gotten up from the bed and made her way to the drapes. He watched as she drew a sliver of it open. "Still dark out." She turned around, slitting her eyes to gaze at the digital clock on the bed-stand. "Oh, duh, it's six a.m. Dawn's not for another hour."

"We could order room service."

"No, it's too early."

"What else is there to do?"

"Well, we could walk. Or we could take advantage of the mini-bar."

"There's a mini-bar?"

Rachel looked around the room. "There should be one around here. It'd be a pretty poor hotel otherwise." She began searching the cabinets.

"Don't you think it's _too early?_" he teased.

"Very funny," she said as she opened the fridge. "And FYI, no, I don't. We had no choice in abandoning our beers when we took you to the hospital. Besides, I'm still operating on a Hellenic time frame. To me, it's a little after two in the afternoon."

"Ah."

After searching every drawer, she admits defeat. "Well, shit. Not one bottle in sight. What kind of hotel doesn't have beer in its inventory?"

"Any place that's not the Hilton." He sat up and swung his legs over the bed, slowly as to not exacerbate his ribcage. "I've got an idea to pass the time. You may not like it, but I was just dreaming about it. It was really vivid. Grab my bag, will you? I've got a few cd's in there, and I wanted to see if I packed it along."

"Packed what along?"

"This." He held up the jewel casing.

The leopard raised a brow. "Ella Fitzgerald?"

"Huge big band fan here. Don't knock it," he mock-scolded.

She grinned, holding up her paws in surrender. "Hey, to each their own. Who am I to judge a person's music tastes? I listen to the old-time country in my spare time. What were you planning to do, anyway?"

"Play it, obviously."

"Yes, and…?"

"Dance with my partner."

Her eyes do their best to mimic dinner plates. "Um…"

Andrew frowned. "What?"

Rachel started wringing her paws, not answering him.

"You can't dance?" It's not exactly a question.

She sighed, looking down at her feet. "No, Andy. I don't even know how! I've never been asked before, not even in high school! I suppose if I hadn't been so cold to people…"

He digests this silently, then slowly extends his wing, taking her paw in his grasp. "Then let me teach you."

Skepticism showed clearly on her face, eyes searching his. "You'll do that?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Of course. Just listen to the songs, and follow my lead. Open the drapes, and we'll do it slowly. Trust me, Rachel. Please?"

Her flat expression remains consistent another moment before it breaks with a beautiful smile. "All right." Her eyes shine with gratitude in the dim light, and something else, as she squeezes his wing.

"Okay," he said, feeling satisfied with her response. He leaves to press 'Play' on the stereo and quickly makes his way back to her, still standing at the window. "Listen to this."

A jazzy piano theme emits from the speaker, a delicate murmur that Andrew has no trouble pursuing with his voice,

_"I never cared much for moonlit skies  
__I never wink back at fireflies  
__But now that the stars are in your eyes  
__I'm beginning to see the light."_

They go through the whole disc in just under an hour. Neither sway; it's hardly the right environment, but they move as slowly as was allowed to avoid the furniture. They're their own private audience. Her head still rests on his shoulder as the stars fade out, as he holds her close, no longer singing along. He feels content to be silent in her presence, high enough that no amount of caffeine or drug could measure up.

The last song filters out, but both hold on, reluctant to be apart. The sky is lightening to a pinkish-orange color, making the snow covered ground coruscate in the imminent brightness. A fragment of sunlight leaks through the window, bringing the spartan room to life. Throughout it all, Andrew is holding Rachel, still silent, unmoving as he gazed into her eyes.

They kiss as the sun emerges from the twilight.

It was going to be a good day. 

* * *

A/N: The lyrics used in the dream segment are from the song "Stardust", written by Hoagy Carmichael in 1927, and covered by Louis Armstrong. Song belongs to Gennett Records. "I'm Beginning To See The Light" was written/performed by Duke Ellington, covered by Ella Fitzgerald and the Ink Spots in 1945, and belongs to RCA.


	8. Higher And Higher

There was no need for questioning it further.

He, Andrew Blair, was in love.

The movies and music always made it seem so easy, though. Those mediums were hardly good representations of what would really happen when a person like himself was given such an ostensibly difficult task. He's become a little wiser since high school, sure, but that didn't mean he knew how to handle this type of situation. There's no manual to browse on the subject or even a chance to take notes. He's just making it up as he goes along. Wasn't that kind of the point? To improvise? Andrew doesn't know. As of right now, the waterfowl's marching the length of the room, wings waving emphatically in the air as he blabbered to himself.

"Rachel, I love…urgh…Rachel, I want you to be my girlf…Your eyes shine like the ocean…fuck, that's not going to work. Shine like the ocean? Really, Andrew?…Your smile makes me want to melt…Oh yeah, _that's_ romantic. Nothing says romance like crane pancakes…Ew…Your eyes are like the brightest jewels…that could probably work…"

The person in question is, quite fortunately, taking a shower and couldn't hear him.

His turn had come to draw the short straw of conflicting feelings, and the irony is not lost on the bird. It's hard to believe it was only two days ago that Rachel had been struggling with the same inner turmoil. He wondered if this fell into the same category. Did she love him? The internal argument he'd had yesterday had long been thrown out the metaphorical window. He exhaled heavily in mid-pace. Logic couldn't be employed in this situation, and he couldn't trust that jazz music would follow through again with the impetus he wanted to have.

He'd have to do this without relying on that particular avenue.

"I can do this, sure. How hard can it be to just say three words? 'Rachel, I love…'"

"You love what?"

He twisted around wildly, heart hammering in his chest and his beak hastily shaping into a crooked grin. "PANCAKES!" Rachel's eyebrows rose at his tone. "Heh heh. I love pancakes, especially when strawberries are added in between each one. I sometimes add a good portion of whipped cream and it's an instant _a la mode_ piece. I have trouble deciding between almond milk and coconut milk to mix into the batter. I mean, is there really that much difference? They both grow from plants. Almond's much, much better in flavor, I think, because I've always loved to savor that nutty aftertaste, even after…"

"ANDREW!" she shouted.

Andrew stopped. "Ah…yes?"

She crossed her bathrobe attired arms. It was spookily reminiscent to the time they first met. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

He shook his head rapidly. "It can wait."

"You're sure?"

Cue bobble-head imitation. "Yeah. Trust me, it can wait."

"Okaaaay…" Rachel drawled. It was made clear by her tone she wasn't going to let it go.

He slips past her into the bathroom, then closes his eyes. Divesting his dirty clothing, he steps into the shower, all while a string of self-deprecating obscenities echo through his head.

—

Avians and adhesive would never coordinate well together. Case in point: the bandages that were wrapped around Andrew's torso managed to hold up very well to the shower water, but there's no changing the fact they were still damp. The task would be a trying one. Even with the adhesive coating now slick from the water, he was bound to have some of his feathers plucked by pulling off the bandages. He bit his tongue in anticipation as his wing moved to attempt the imminently painful process.

Only to breathe a sigh of relief when a knock came at the bathroom door. "Andrew? Can I come in?"

"Sure. Give me a second." He pulls on his boxers, and puts the towel back on its hanger before opening the door. Then he gulps.

Rachel's standing in the opening, holding a roll of gauze in her paw. He discounts this fact almost immediately as he focuses on the rest of her. The leopard had traded in her bathrobe for a sports bra and a pair of hip-hugging (gulp!) boy shorts. His mind is screaming at him 'Look away, you idiot! Have some dignity!', but his head doesn't heed the order. Neither will his eyes stray from the sight of her lithe body. His tongue is having an equal predicament as it seemed to have gotten tangled in his throat.

"I thought we could change your bandages," she said, smiling coyly.

He just nodded, still aphasic.

How was it possible she had the ability to make him so bold at times and so flustered during others? It perplexed him to no degree. Andrew knew he would never get an answer to that, and knowing that it wouldn't happen filled his soul with a certain kind of euphoric anxiety. At least he thought that's what it was.

He couldn't help getting a whiff of Rachel's perfume as she leaned toward him. She smelled like lilac. She steered him in the direction of the bathtub and sat him down on the edge as she sat opposite on the toilet.

"Now, don't fidget." She held up a pair of scissors. "I'm going to have to slice through."

"What about…?" he gestured to her paws.

Her voice went cold, "_Absolutely not._ Scissors are blunt. My claws, on the other hand, are very sharp. If I tried cutting through the bandages with them, you'd be bleeding out all over the floor instead of just feeling a sharp poke in the midsection."

He can feel himself pale at the prospect. "I'll go with the scissors."

"Good boy," she says, and begins cutting.

He works hard not to shiver at her touch, so to keep himself distracted he closes his eyes, sits still. It's probably the worst idea he can think of. Minute trembles keep erupting on his body as she takes away the gauze. One paw stayed attached to his chest for support, and his heart is thundering inside. She pulls the bandage away slowly, delicately. He feels the sting of it, but not as badly as he would have if he pulled it off on his own. Still, by the time she's finished, his body is burning, and not just from the disassembly. "Wait," he says to her as she unwraps the gauze. At least he can look her in the eye again.

"What?"

"I…I do have something to tell you. Promise not to run away?"

Rachel smiled. "Andrew, where do you think I'd go? You're the one driving the car. Besides, I like being with you. You're the only guy I've met that wasn't a one night stand. Any time I tell someone what I do in the corps, they say 'geek' and run for the hills."

"That's a shame. They couldn't see how beautiful you…" he trailed off, blushing heavily.

"How beautiful I am? Is that what you were going to say?" she coaxed.

He sighed, then grinned nervously. "Yes." He reached to cover her limbs in his. "You're beautiful to me. I can't believe it's only been three days since we met, but I like to think that we have a connection, and however long it takes, I want to see it through. I...I think I'm in love with you, Rachel." He looked down at his feet. "I know, it's stupid, a bird in love with a cat, but I really do feel that way. I'm almost ready to thank Stephen for his interference, but I don't know if you feel the same way about me. Hell, maybe if I waited a little longer I could…"

His speech was cut off abruptly as his wings were tugged towards her. All the exchanges they had shared since the last day and a half are left in the dust as she delivered the most sizzling kiss on his beak. He shakes off his shock before quickly reciprocating with equal fervor, wrapping his wings around her abdomen.

The bandages lay scattered on the floor, forgotten by both.

—

"I hope that dispelled your doubts."

"Admirably." He nips at her ear.

"Don't do that," she said, voice tight.

"Why not?" He's feeling utterly confident right now. He nips again.

"Because…hehe…stop smiling."

"Are you _ticklish_?"

He can see the leopard in the dim light of the hotel room, head lolling on the pillow, eyes half-closed in serenity. Her mouth is closed, but he knows laughter is on the verge of slipping out, and he swiftly takes advantage of the fact.

"Ahhh! Andy, stop! I'm warning you! I'll…hehehe!"

"You'll what? Giggle at me some more? I'm just winging it."

Both pause at the pun.

"Was that as bad as it sounded?"

"Oh yeah."

"I'll admit, bad choice of words."

"No pun intended?"

"Oh, you're a riot." He brushes a wing against her belly, making her stifle another giggle. "Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to go around the city for a bit. See the sights?"

She shook her head. "Maybe in an hour or two. I'm fine just being here."

He kissed her forehead. "We could check out today, if you really wanted. I don't know about you, but Omaha is definitely on my list of least favorite cities."

"Mine too, actually." Rachel sighed. "Give it an hour, then we'll get ready, but first…" She leans in with a winsome smile, and they start afresh.

They exit the Elemental four hours later, bags packed, feeling the spontaneous bedroom sessions have filled their peace of mind. They had to reapply the bandages after Andrew began feeling some strain when she laid her head on his stomach, killing any passionate atmosphere. Not that either minded; they could always try again. Preferably when his ribs had healed more.

They put their bags in the trunk, shuffling them before Andrew realized something. He decides to let it go, but Rachel says, "What are you thinking about?" She'd obviously seen the thoughtful look on his face.

"Stephen, actually. It was him I was talking to on the phone the other night. He admitted to spying on us, finally. Of course, that was only after I stopped sounding like a petulant child."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Did he have anything to do with us getting stonewalled for a hotel room?"

Andrew grimaced. "Yes."

"I'm going to kill him."

"Linda won't be happy."

"Tough. That dog's put me through enough trouble the last few days."

He raised his wing like a student in a classroom. "You're forgetting me, and I don't feel much like killing him as I wanted to a while ago."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, he led me to you. Need I say more?"

She smiled. "I suppose I could give him a little leeway, but…"

"Oh, don't worry, I already have something special in mind. Let's get some lunch. I'll explain it to you on the way," he said, closing the trunk and offering her a wing.

She hooked her arm around it. "Lead on, good sir."

—

"I have to admit, it sounds interesting. Reward and punishment all at once," the leopard mused. "I'm sure Linda will be thrilled."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

They had just arrived at a rather eclectic restaurant five minutes east from the hotel. They weren't going back, so both elected to drive there. The Element's concierge highly recommended it; after the irritation of before, Andrew felt a little bad for the guy, and to correct it somehow Andrew asked for the best restaurant in town. Inwardly, he felt satisfied: he was performing a kindness, even if he was the only one to see it like that, and he was also taking Rachel for a proper date, unlike the impromptu bar brawl with the misogynistic Paul Bunyan wannabe. The past day sequestered in the hotel room had been absolutely wonderful, but both he and Rachel felt it was time to move on to the next city.

"I've never actually met her at all," she says as they exit the car.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she chuckled, taking his wing again. "It was cute, though. Every time I tried to visit Stephen, when we were both at home, that is, he'd quote every debate from 'When Harry Met Sally…' to the letter. 'Men and women can't be friends' and all that bullshit. Then he'd switch immediately to some obscure sci-fi reference he knew I wouldn't get."

Andrew groaned. "I know what you mean. That Star Wars reference I paraphrased back in Minneapolis? The results of watching the trilogy too many times. Not willingly, I might add. Anyway, go on."

"Not much to tell. Stephen continued with the evasion until I forced him to tell me why I couldn't come over. That was when he told me about Linda. Back in '96, I think."

He nodded. "That's about when I met her. It wasn't too long after they hooked up that Stephen's pranks started to wind down. I'm amazed how much control she has over him."

Rachel gave him a pointed look.

The bird groaned again and laughed as the hospital room entered his memory. "Okay, I guess that was a tad hypocritical."

"Ya think?" Thankfully, it's only her tone that has the sarcastic pitch. Her face says she's playing with him. She clutches his wing a little tighter.

The restaurant comes into view. It's dwarfed when compared to the buildings around it, including the fortress-like glass cage on the right. The structure is no more than two stories tall. To Andrew, it's terribly out of place; an archaic Chinese abode appropriate more for a domestic environment, but not for this tangible urban arena.

"Let's hope the food is as good as he said," Andrew commented as they entered.

The interior of the restaurant is entirely painted red, with curtains of the same color lining above the tables. The wooden floors and tables look incredibly expensive. He swore there was enough money invested in the tables to pay for twenty tanks of gas in his car, and probably more. There's barely any view of the ceiling at all, save for slivers of black-painted steel plates. The chandeliers hanging down are oval-shaped, mimicking the style of Chinese lanterns.

Rachel's eyes are wide as she takes it in. "Never mind the food. I'm ready to hire a goddamn decorator."

Both look down as a goose waddled their way. He addressed them in a rather flamboyant Chinese/English accent, "Welcome to O Dining & Lounge! I'm Mr. Kwok, host and owner of this restaurant. Table for two?"

Andrew, at least, manages to keep a straight expression on his beak, though it's a losing battle as Rachel whispers in his ear, "Stereotype much?"

He prodded her stomach. "Uh, yes. Just us."

They're quickly at a table, admiring the atmosphere. The scene's pretty lively, though he notices many glances in their direction. "We must be the odd couple of the day."

She looks around, then, before he can even open his mouth to speak further, the leopard's sitting beside him, placing her head on his shoulder. "Let 'em look. I don't care who knows."

"But…"

"Chuck and Sophie made it work, didn't they?"

That effectively shot down whatever argument the waterfowl had. He chuckled before kissing her. "That they did." He waves a wing to the watchers, who hastily look away. "I love you, Rachel." It's the first time he's said it without the 'I think' or stuttering up a storm, and he's a tiny bit shocked at himself, but he also feels as if a great weight has been displaced from his chest, and he knows he's never going to take those words back.

She's smiling mischievously. "I know," she says, and latches onto his mouth.

—

A/N: Definite cliffhanger here. Will explain Andrew and Rachel's revenge once I get to the final chapter. I only ask that you be patient. The road trip shall continue. I got around to fitting in Mr. Ping who, for the setting's sake, is now Mr. Kwok. Plus, I've still got to work Mantis and Monkey in somehow, and Shifu. In the meantime, don't hesitate to R&R!

A/N 2: Oh, and if you haven't caught them already, I made small references to Stargate SG-1 and Buffy The Vampire Slayer, two of my other favorite fandoms.


	9. Goodbye Blue Sky

Unfortunately, their business in Omaha wasn't finished. After the late lunch consisting of garlic shrimp, Andrew had to get back to the hospital: his ribs had started to pain him again. At least he could walk on his own now. His wing, despite some pressure, had healed nicely, though not enough for flying just yet.

He and Rachel arrive in a lull. Omaha, as Andrew constantly reminded himself, wasn't near the booming metropolis of coastal cities, so the hospital lobby is pretty quiet. There's no one around save them and…

…that idiot rhinoceros they'd tangled with two days ago. His eyelids drooped, his face was slack, and he was altogether immobile. Ryan stood behind him to guide the wheelchair. He greeted them with a rueful smile, "Hey, guys."

Andrew was likewise chaired, per Rachel's command. "Hey, Ryan. How's Bobby doing?"

"Better. At least I think so. The doctor said it wasn't a concussion, but it was pretty damn close. They prescribed some painkillers, so he should be up and about in a week. Are you guys staying in town much longer?"

"We're leaving today, actually. Omaha's worn out its welcome for us."

The coherent rhinoceros chuckled. "I'm sure Bobby's going to say the same thing."

Andrew couldn't see his girlfriend's face, but she sounded chagrined, "Listen, Ryan, I'm really sorr…"

He raised his hoof to forestall her. "In my mind, he had it coming. Neither of you have anything to apologize for. Maybe he'll be a little wiser than to mess with a marine in the future."

"How'd you…?"

"Family tradition," was his quick summary. He gripped the handles of the wheelchair and started pushing it forward. "Anyway, I've got to get this guy home. Good luck on the rest of your road trip."

"Thanks," Andrew replied absently. He felt sorry himself; not for Bobby, not really, but for Ryan. He couldn't fathom why the two were friends if Bobby kept the pretentious manner of acting before deliberating but he, having the lawyer's mind, wouldn't be able to use it as a reliable reference in every instance. He hoped Ryan's words would hold some inkling of certainty, for his sake, but nothing could be one hundred percent certain. If he…well, if anyone could manage to endure a friendship with Stephen Nelson, the Northwestern prankster, despite his faults, he was hardly one to judge that person's character.

The couple imperceptibly watched as he directed the chair to the parking lot from the lobby, and out of their sight, before Rachel took command of the wheelchair toward the elevator. He hadn't even seen his doctor, being unconscious the whole time, and then fleeing the hospital. Rachel seemed to know where she was going, at least. The hospital, as expected, was very plain, something he didn't take into much account. He didn't like being here, but Rachel had insisted. The place was a maze. She soon found the resident's office, situated on the top floor. The oryx, wearing wire-thin glasses and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt, was muttering in a deep baritone while going over some paperwork when Rachel knocked on his door.

He looked up. "Ms. Klein," he said. His timbre didn't match up with the rest of his face, set heavily in a frown. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Blair. I'm Dr. Owusu. Now, what is it can I do for you?"

"It's my ribs," Andrew answered. "You see, they're still…"

"Causing problems? Well, naturally they would, seeing as it's only been two days since you were released from the hospital. I was going to put you on some pain medication, but I'm afraid Ms. Klein escorted you out of the hospital too quickly for me to do so." He sent her a mild glare.

Andrew turned to Rachel, who looked sheepish.

"But you are very fortunate I still have the prescription on file," the oryx continued, digging into a drawer behind him, and pulled out a file with Andrew's name on it. He hesitated before handing it over. "Keep this in mind, Mr. Blair. You're only to fill this prescription if the first option doesn't cooperate with your body."

"Which is what?"

"The usual on the shelf drugs, as long as its Tylenol or anything ibuprofen based. Also, I recommended that you not do anything," he glanced between the bird and the cat, "too…overly _strenuous _over the next six weeks."

Both blushed. Andrew only saw that Rachel was through the mirror on the doctor's wall.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, doctor."

"No, doctor."

"Then have a good day. I've got to get back to this paperwork."

Once out in the hallway, Andrew looked at Rachel flatly. "Are you mad? Go ahead and rub it in. I can take it."

"Rachel," he said, smiling up at her, "I'd never tease you for something so minor. You made a mistake, no big deal. I think that we've got something good going here, and like I said before, I'm ready to see it to the end, whatever mistakes either of us make along the way. Besides, I kind of reacted the same way when we left here the first time."

"You're such a liar."

That caught him off guard. "What?"

"Oh, don't you play innocent with me, Birdy," the feline responded, crossing her arms. She's trying hard not to smile. "You took advantage of my weakness."

"What weakness?" Then he remembered. If there was one thing Andrew always prided himself on, it was keeping a straight face in these kind of situations. As of late, though, the habit had in effect deserted him, and right then, he felt incredibly disinclined to care. He smirked. "Oh, you mean…this?" He reached up and tweaked her ear with one of his wing fingers.

"Ack! Don't do that here!" the leopard yelled. She quickly covered her mouth with a paw and glared at him in a way that said, _'You are so going to get it.'_

He continued to smirk. _'Bring it on.'_

—

Their seats had switched now with Rachel commandeering the driver's side. Since Andrew's ribs were broken, she had decisively restricted his driving ability to short and safe distances, and the road trip continued. The plan, as the two of them had worked out, was to go to Denver first, then continue south through New Mexico, Arizona, Las Vegas and, finally, to San Francisco. As it happens, they're already late in leaving the self-proclaimed 'Gateway to the West'. Denver is a near eight hour drive west, and the road is already twining into the oncoming night sky.

They'd have to settle for something in between.

It's not the most ideal, but North Platte is a relatively simple rural city. Everything's in 'Circa 1954' style down to the layers of bricks and the shingles on houses. There aren't that many hotels in the area, and none of which are in the town itself. They're all bunched together on the fringes of the highway like grapes on a vine.

"This looks cozy," Andrew uttered. Though his tone registered as slightly sardonic, his eyes belied it as he looked at her. Who was to say this wasn't some overly eloquent dream? Andrew couldn't find an excuse, but he was more than fearful of what would happen if he took his eyes away. That she would dim, that she would leave. There remained a strong possibility of that happening. Rachel never said why she had to go to California, but he suspected it had to do with the corps. Rachel's departure was an inevitable circumstance, something in which he'd have to be ready for, but for now he was just happy that she was by his side.

"You're lying again," she said/sang. "I can tell by your voice."

"I'll have you know I'm perfectly serious. What could be more comfortable than a half dozen hotels clustered around a highway? Cheap food, low fares, reverberations…"

"And a room and bed to ourselves," she finished, her voice practically purring. "That's all that matters to me."

"Feeling a bit amorous, are we?"

"Just so long as we avoid the bars, yes."

Andrew laughed. "Agreed. Shall we?" he asked with a wave of his wing.

Her only response is to open the driver's side door and quickly run to open his in some bizarre turnabout of chivalry. "Rachel, I am able to walk, you know," he murmured to her, a trifle irritated. His words instantly betray him as he stumbled and almost fell due to a stray patch of ice in the Holiday Inn's parking lot. Rachel caught him halfway.

"Pull the other one, why don't you?" she asked.

He grumbled in his throat, but made no other protests.

"Oh, poor you," Rachel cooed.

He grumbled again, opening and flapping his wings as he did so, and for a few moments both were lifted from the ground.

"Hey! Andrew, put me down!" she exclaimed, gripping him for all it was worth.

"Never!"

But he touched down just outside the lobby despite his oath, grinning madly. The leopard swatted at his shoulder. "You _are_ a sneaky bastard," she stated.

"Guilty as charged, Rachel," he replied, feeling not the least bit repentant. He couldn't believe himself right now, how belligerent he was becoming. Stephen may have done something wonderful for a change instead of for his own prideful endeavors, but at what expense? Andrew Ìmhear Blair was progressively turning into more and more of a jackass, and he realized he didn't like that side of himself. At all. He sobered up immediately.

She leaned in close, her lips almost touching his beak, and whispered, "Do that again without warning, and I'll break one of your wings."

He nodded, contrite. "I'm sorry."

Rachel sighed. "I only said 'without warning', Andrew. I'm asking for ample time to be ready for it, not that you shouldn't make the attempt. It's good to be assertive every once in a while, but you shouldn't go overboard in doing so."

"Understood loud and clear, ma'am!" he said firmly. The confidence boost had made its way back to him. He struck a military pose complete with a salute.

She snorted, covering her mouth. "Get inside, 'soldier.'"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Enough!" she laughed.

—

An hour later, Andrew's alone.

Rachel decided to loosen the reigns on his driving increment, and he was now wandering around North Platte for a decent place to pick up food. A few moments of indecision later, he called Rachel on the car phone.

"So far, I've seen a Chinese restaurant, a Mexican one, Tempura Japanese, and finally this 50's style diner called the Pink Poodle."

_"Ooh, really? Why do they call it that?"_

"Probably because the first owner was a pink poodle."

_"Probably. That sounds like the best place. Pick me up a Caesar salad, dressing on the side, and some chocolate cake for the both of us."_

"On my way," he replied, hitting the 'End' button and entering the driveway. Like much of the town, the diner's easy to miss. It's hidden in a small corner behind a bigger red-bricked building. The only indication is its aqua-green coloring, its mini-marquee proclaiming it as the diner in question, and a single marble stone table positioned outside, now covered in cold white powder. He gets out of the car, walks ten paces, and pulls the door open.

His head was facing down the entire time he made his way in, so he almost doesn't notice how still the environment inside the diner is. He lifted his eyes, and then wishes he hadn't.

The scene is terrible: there aren't many patrons at this time of night, and its evidenced by the picture of an unknown golden retriever clutching his shoulder due to what is clearly a bullet wound. The stench of blood in the air is palpable. Andrew is sure there's another person lying dead on the ground beyond his view.

What brings the picture into Andrew's full, unmitigated perspective is the figure standing behind the counter, now aiming a gun in his general direction. The figure himself, no question its a he, has a ski mask pulled over his head. His teeth are bared in a silent snarl, golden eyes glowing balefully at Andrew. He's wrapped inside a large black jean jacket that's looking worse for wear, its seams ripped throughout, but the bird can see the tense muscles beneath, along with the tiniest hint of grayish dotted fur.

A vague impression of recognition enters the culprit's eyes. He lowers his gun, keeping his eyes on Andrew, and opens his mouth, "I know you." The voice is cold, foreign, and predominantly English, but not cultured, putting Andrew in mind of the East London accents he's heard in a few films.

Andrew kept his face blank as he raised his wings into the air. He's heard that voice before, and it was one in which he'd hoped never to hear from again. He spoke calmly in the empty atmosphere,

"Hello, Nick."

—

A/N: Things are taking a dangerous turn here. I'll include a bit of back story in the next chapter, but for now I'll say the ghosts of Andrew's life are returning. Oh, and when you're thinking about the voice behind the character I made Tai Lung into, tend to think more of Christian Bale's character of Borden in 'The Prestige' than Ian McShane, since pretty much all the characters in my story are in their mid-twenties.


	10. A Bad Dream

A/N: There's really no more to say than that. It was a fairly eventful holiday season; the usual family gatherings, the emergence of a new year, but after all that the days still pass by as they ever did. And that was quickly followed by me getting the post-Christmas cold. I'm just about over that now, and with that I'm proud to present the tenth installment of the story. Hope you enjoy!

—

He's remembering the high school days with the full force of a freight train.

It was without question that Nicholas Barnes had quite possibly been the biggest asshole ever to come from the British Isles; he had the male population of Apollo High School cowering in fear, save for the others on the football and wrestling teams, the latter of which he excelled. Neither did it help how most of the girls would fawn over his accent. Andrew himself had been bullied by Nick on a regular basis before falling in with Sophie, after she had helped him out of his locker one memorable Monday.

If it hadn't been for Chuck gaining some backbone their early junior year, Nick's reign of terror would have continued. Chuck tried out for the wrestling team, and before anyone could count to ten he was pretty much unbeatable. Naturally they didn't compete within their own school, but Nick, having grown increasingly jealous of the attention granted toward Chuck, was failing in his performances. His jealousy had reached the boiling point in the winter of '94 when he, without any provocation, pounced on Chuck in the middle of a inter-school match and started wailing on him. Chuck fought back immediately, and escaped with only a black eye. It had taken the collective of both high school teams to pull each other apart.

The terror expanded instead of ending. Because of that first fight that broke out between them, Nick's application for a wrestling scholarship was denied. As a result, fights in the school hallways between them became regular occurrences, sometimes with Sophie and Andrew feeling the brunt of the attacks. Two suspensions and a warning of expulsion later, Nick began to swirl the drain. Andrew had learned of a few robbery attempts at nearby convenience stores, and of the break in at Chuck's house, before Nick dropped off of the radar altogether. No one since then had known what had happened with him.

Until now.

If anything could break through the exuberance Andrew felt the past few days, it was this. He's standing remarkably still, reflecting an outward calm, but the fedora is making his head feel excruciatingly hot. He doesn't dare move any of his muscles as the gun Nick is holding centers on his chest.

"I remember now," he replied. The way he spoke was soft, and in such a menacing tone that Andrew's fluctuating between hot and cold, and held back a shiver. "You were a part of that idiot panda's group."

Andrew stayed silent, wings raised to the ceiling. Better that than the alternative of letting Nick goad him into something stupid: a secure way to dictate the terms of this severe encounter. It also put him in the position of negotiator. He inwardly scrolled the case files of past bank robberies he'd read about in his courses, hoping to find something to help him out, but his eyes didn't move from the sight of the snow leopard.

Proximity's fast becoming an issue as Nick comes around the counter. "Ha ha ha. I must say, it was very kind of fate to put you in my path. I waited years to climb my way up the ladder again, working, toiling, to scrape off the muck of my humiliation at the hands of that bastard. Now that you're here, I can have my grand comeback."

"To a place that was glad to see you leave? You can forget it. I'm not helping you."

"HA!" Before Andrew knew it, he was on the ground. The second time in as little as four days. Blood was flowing down his temple in a steady rivulet; Nick had struck him with the butt of the gun. Andrew touched the point of impact and winced, then he looked up. The blow made him a little dizzy, but between the blurry lights of the diner he could see Nick standing above him. The snow leopard's gaze was dead, empty. It turned out one could quite easily be afraid of such a stare when there's a gun pointed at your head. "I've killed people for a lot less than your words, you pathetic chicken. You'll help me get back," he cocked the trigger, "or you'll die right where you sit. It's your choice."

Andrew nodded. He felt that he was forgetting something, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. "Come on."

—

So this is what it felt like when your life was reduced to an hourglass frame. You keep your footing through uneven snow, all while a sociopath you had once known played the role of the timekeeper in such a deadly fashion.

The car had been left behind at the diner as Andrew was made to walk down a steep hill, the stub of the gun pressed firmly against his back. The one time he tried to fly away, Nick had moved faster than Andrew was able to blink, twisting his wing in his paw. "Nice try," he said, releasing and prompting him forward with the gun. "Keep going."

Nick, between the glances Andrew was able to make behind himself, kept looking around like he was afraid someone or something would pop out from some hidden door in the ground. Just what had the years done to Nick for him to fall from grace like that? Andrew didn't know, and at this point didn't really care. He could only think of Rachel.

It figured that something would have to go monumentally wrong concerning the two of them, but it never entered Andrew's mind to figure it'd be him leaving first.

He could imagine her in the hotel room, pacing the floor, growing more and more agitated as he didn't show, didn't even call. He felt his heart break a little. With any luck, however, she'd head to the diner and find out what happened. If she did, he hoped she'd find him in time.

There seemed to be enough of that as it were, he quickly realized: Nick had no practical sense of direction. Every now and then, it had to have been an hour since they exited the diner, Nick would pull out an tattered map from his coat pocket and peruse it a bit before saying, "This way." It happened frequently: the pause, the reading, the glance around the area and, finally, the restart which in Andrew's mind was becoming meaningless. There was absolutely nothing to go on to indicate where they were heading. The only thing in view was a seemingly endless clearing blanketed in snow on the outskirts of the town. Due to the hit he had taken on his head, Andrew's navigational skills were equally skewed. The clouds overhead didn't help as they hid the stars Andrew might have used for finding their way. The snow was beginning to fall again after the tenth time Nick had stopped to read the map, and Andrew was shivering uncontrollably now. He wrapped his wings as tightly as he could around himself as the chill went straight to his marrow. He didn't need Nick to shoot him, after all; he'd freeze to death.

They stop at the halfway mark of the clearing, which proved to Andrew just how reckless the snow leopard could be. There was no wood to build a fire with; that remained another two hundred yards away, but Nick did not show any inclination to go further. He just sat opposite Andrew as before, with the gun aimed high and that unblinking yellow stare.

"It was supposed to be me to lavish attention on."

Andrew said nothing in reply.

"The day that _panda_ stole the crowd from me felt like the biggest punch I'd taken. How dare he? It was supposed to be me!" the snow leopard continued in a harsh whisper.

Still, Andrew remained silent. Under no circumstances was he going to add fuel to Nick's unstable rage. From the tone of his voice, he'd been living with it for years already. The bird shivered again, wrapping his wings tighter around himself. This was bad karma from the start. It's not like he wanted circumstances to occur in this way, but whichever way you swung it, they still ended up in the same fashion. Fate, or God, or whatever you called it, would continually set him up for disappointment.

The rising anger from that thought was hard to quell. He was surprised to find he didn't want to. _Let me be angry. Let it rise; it was better than fear. Think of Rachel. Let it drive me._

His heart felt heavy with the strain of it. He'd just met the woman he loved, and he wasn't going to abandon her to this lunatic. His feet were numb but that didn't stop him; he stood up.

"Get down, you stupid bird. We're not going anywhere until I say." The gun clicked as Nick pressed the trigger down.

The crane looked back coldly. "You're not, but I am. Enjoy your vacation in Hell, Nick." Nothing more needed to be said.

Andrew leapt.

—

The shot went wild.

Andrew's wing had impacted in a crescent swing against Nick's face as he fired, causing the gun to go off and fly into the snow drift.

This was beyond the most crazy thing Andrew had ever done; he knew he wasn't a fighter. He's reacting on pure instinct as he quickly followed the wing thrust with a kick into Nick's stomach. It was hardly the right setting for any kind of physical activity, let alone a spontaneous brawl. Andrew's so numb with the chill of the air that he can't even feel the blows he's inflicting upon the snow leopard. He can't make a fist because of his wings but whatever he's doing is working somehow; after Nick lands in a lucky punch to his face, Andrew returns the blow in kind with one of his own: a powerful thrust of his upper left wing that leaves Nick dizzy and splayed on the ground like an angel violently cast to the earth.

The erratic dance Andrew had performed took a lot of the wind out of him, but he couldn't stop yet. Time for either continuing the fight or settle with making a hasty getaway. Nick's a bit slow getting back up on his feet. Andrew took the advantage by quickly spreading his wings out and lashed them forward, sending a large gust of wind into the snow leopard's face.

There was something to be said for subtlety in this situation. Too bad for Andrew that Nick found the reason simple to ignore. He charged Andrew on all fours, the icy blast not deterring him in the slightest.

Andrew's one and only option was up.

He readied his wings as Nick sprinted forward, looking for all the world like a raging demon from hell. Or even, god forbid he should ever admit to anyone that he watched it, "Buffy The Vampire Slayer."

Fucking hell, he even ran like one!

_Five feet…four feet…_

Nick's eyes shone in an insane shade of molten gold, and Andrew swore he saw hellfire in those manic orbs. There was something else, too, in the distance. Fireflies in winter? No, the casts of the fluorescents were too big.

It hit him then. _Flashlights!_ Someone was looking for him. Or them. No doubt drawn close by the sound of the gunshot.

_Focus. Two feet…one…make your move, pencil neck!_

Andrew flew within a hair's breadth of Nick colliding with him. The snow leopard made confused "Huh" sound which quickly delegated itself into a painful scream as Andrew's talon cut into his lower back. The cut was shallow, of course, but Andrew imagined with that much dried skin under the fur, the cut had to feel on fire. Still keeping himself aloft, Andrew turned his head.

The march of flashlights was making its way down the hill, growing ever more rapid as the sound of Nick's howling fell into the parade's earshot. The oncoming footsteps of many people crunching through the snow was matching Andrew's haggard breaths almost harmoniously.

Nick, for all his bluster, started to whimper as a voice made itself known, "Goddamn, we got two live ones!"

"Argument?" a second voice asked.

"Don't look that way t' me," the first voice replied. "Self-deefense, Am guessin'." The voice raised its light into Andrew's face. Andrew winced and held up his wing to deflect it. "What's yer name, boy?"

"Andrew Blair."

"That yer car in front o' the diner?"

"Well…"

"Oh, it's his, all right," another voice interrupted, then said jokingly. "I should know, I've been a passenger in it since Central Standard Time."

"We're still in Central Standard Time," the second voice countered.

"Oh," the new voice paused, "Well, who cares if I've got the time zones confused! I've been on assignment in Greece the past eight months!"

Andrew chuckled. "Good to see you, too, Rachel." She clutched him tightly to her before he realized it. "Rachel, do you think you could let go of me now? You're going to break my spine," he hoarsely pleaded.

"Not a chance," she said. "Any time I let you out of my sight, you're either getting beat up or kidnapped." The clouded leopard looked up at him, taking in his injuries. Thankfully, there were few. "Or both, in this case."

Andrew rolled his eyes, even as his wings returned the hug Rachel had graced him with. "Once again, it's good to see you."

"Hey," the first speaker cut in. Andrew turned to glance at him. It was none other than the golden retriever from the diner, left arm now wrapped in a sling. "Now tha' the happy r'unions outta tha way, will ya come wi' us to th' station? Gotta few questions for ya."

"Of course," the two of them replied. The retriever started walking toward the hill without seeing if they were following him. The deputy, a Quarab horse, followed behind, escorting Nick, who was now bound in handcuffs. The leopard looked utterly dejected and weary with his eyes downcast, seemingly worse for wear as Andrew's attention focused on a few small drops of blood escaping the hem of his jacket. He looked at Rachel, who looked back.

"I'm glad you're all right," she said.

He smiled weakly. "No more so than I am, I'm sure." Taking one last look across the snow covered field, he said, "Let's get out of here ASAP. I've had enough of Nebraska."

She didn't respond except to wrap her arms around him as they walked after the convoy.


End file.
